


Mors Tua, Vita Mea

by neonntiger



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Violence, F/F, F/M, Humour, Manipulative Hannibal, Papa Hannibal, Possessive Hannibal, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 39,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonntiger/pseuds/neonntiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Lecter takes on a new patient familiar with the brutality of intentional cruelty. He finds himself unexpectedly attached to her and a volatile relationship outside of doctor/patient begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pro Re Nata

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first real attempt at Hannibal fanfiction! Any comments/criticisms are welcomed. Also to be noted, while I'm trying to stay faithful to the chronology of events in the series, I've adopted that timeline to my own to suit the story as it unfolds.

The heavy oak door opened before Ares had a chance to knock on it. Before her, Dr. Hannibal Lecter stood tall in the threshold. Seeing him outfitted in an elegant navy blue three piece suit left Ares feeling wildly underdressed in her black jeans and black hooded sweatshirt. While her gaze lingered on the thick knot of his orange and blue paisley tie, Dr. Lecter took a half step back and raised his arm.

“Please,” he said. “Come in.”

Ares nodded and entered his office, stopping two steps inside. The door closed behind her. She felt the tips of Dr. Lecter’s fingers against the back of her shoulder as his other hand extended in front of her towards two leather seats that faced each other three feet apart. 

“After you.”

Ares crossed Dr. Lecter’s office. The air felt cool against her skin and neck, far cooler than the air in the hallway. A shiver rippled down her spine as she passed his desk. She glanced at it, appreciating how organized it was. An appointment book sat open in front of his chair with a black fountain pen in the centrefold. The lamp that arched over his desk provided only enough illumination to light what was directly beneath it which, in the dimly lit office, created a shroud of darkness around his personal things. She caught a glint of brightness on his desk as she took her seat in one of the leather chairs. 

Dr. Lecter followed Ares’s gaze to his desk. He saw her eyes linger on the scalpel that sat parallel to the spine of his sketchbook but decided against acknowledging the stainless steel tool. Dr. Lecter lowered himself slowly into his seat and looked at Ares. 

She sat with her back straight against the seat, shoulders back, chest slightly out. She had impeccable posture.

“You were referred to me,” Dr. Lecter said, crossing his right leg over his left. “By Dr. Klemanic.”  
Ares nodded.  
“Why were you referred?”  
“She told me she couldn’t help me.”  
“You had two sessions with her.”  
“She made her mind up very quickly.”  
“Before Dr. Klemanic, you saw Dr. Muntz.”  
“Yes.”  
“Three sessions.”  
“That’s right.”  
“Dr. Green, Dr. Laslov, Dr. Simnots. Four, two, and five sessions, respectively.”  
Ares nodded.  
“How many sessions do you anticipate we will have together, Ares?”  
“You have my file,” she answered. “I’m sure you’ve read enough referral notes to have an idea of how long I’ll be your patient for.”  
“I anticipate a long, productive relationship,” Dr. Lecter told her. He folded his hands in his lap. “You’re a gymnast.”  
“I am.”  
“You’ve been in gymnastics since you were a small child.”  
“Three years old.”  
“You continued it throughout your life.”  
Ares nodded.  
“You’ve competed professionally, you’ve received many exceptional awards and accolades.”  
Another nod. 

Dr. Lecter tilted his head an imperceptible degree. His posture stiffened to match Ares’s rigid bearing. He studied Ares’s face for several seconds before letting out a small exhale and speaking again.

“You received a gymnastics scholarship to continue your studies beyond high school at a prestigious institution. You declined.”  
She nodded.  
“Why is that?”  
“I had no desire to study anything beyond high school.”  
“You never pursued higher education.”  
She shook her head.  
“You continued with gymnastics.”  
She nodded again.  
“You trained to become an instructor. You’re certified now, you teach classes for three year olds.”  
Another nod.  
“Tell me what happened when you were three years old, Ares.”

Dr. Lecter watched Ares’s chest react to his request. Breath left her lungs slowly, her mouth open just enough for her tongue to glide across her lips. Her eyebrows raised slightly as her lips curled downward at their corners. 

“My family was slaughtered in front of me.”

Ares paused. Her mouth hung open as if she wanted to continue speaking, but her voice would not come. Dr. Lecter uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his seat, his elbows resting on the top of his thighs. He watched Ares struggle to take in a smooth breath with the gruesome details of her family’s murder lodged in her throat. His eyes narrowed as if to urge her to speak, but she instead pressed her lips together and swallowed; a small victory for being able to stomach the incident still.

Dr. Lecter had read the police report of the murder and its surrounding events. He pored over every detail on the day he received her patient referral and again an hour prior to their appointment. He knew the details Ares swallowed down. Dr. Lecter also knew what he had told her previous psychiatrists — no more and no less than what she had just told him. 

“Ares.”  
“Yes?” She answered reflexively, breathlessly, like a student caught not paying attention during lessons.  
“You were orphaned.”  
She nodded.  
“The psychiatrist that visited you for assessment following the murder recommended you be kept in gymnastics as a method of coping therapy.”  
Another nod.  
“You progressed exceptionally quickly in the following years. You were in advanced classes with students twice your age within three years. That’s very impressive, Ares.”  
“Thank you, Dr. Lecter.”  
“Did those successes help you to recover from what was done to your family?”  
She raised her shoulders halfheartedly.  
“You saw psychiatrists regularly during your childhood and adolescence. You were diagnosed as a selective mute within your first year of treatment. You seldom speak during sessions. What does your selective mutism achieve, Ares?”  
“People stopped talking to me. They didn’t ask questions anymore.”  
“You isolated yourself on purpose.”  
She nodded.  
“How did you feel?”  
“Fine.”  
“How do you feel now?”  
“Fine.”  
“Why are you here then?”

Dr. Lecter saw her eyes lower slightly to her patient file on the table near his seat. He shook his head and looked at her.

Forcefully, almost aggressively, he said, “I want to hear it from you, Ares.”

Ares appeared taken back by the vigour in his tone. Her eyes fluttered for a moment as if she had flinched under his raised hand. She swallowed hard and spoke quietly. Dr. Lecter interrupted to tell her he couldn’t hear her.

“I want the screaming to stop.”  
“Where do you hear the screaming?”  
“Everywhere.”  
“When do you hear it?”  
“Always.”

Ares angled her body slightly in her chair. Dr. Lecter watched her fingers curl in towards her palms, her hands squeezed between her thighs. The flesh over her knuckles blanched.

“In time, Ares,” Dr. Lecter said, his voice coaxing her to look at him. “The screaming will stop. We will silence it together.”


	2. Compos Mentis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has a small breakthrough with Ares.

Dr. Lecter arranged to see Ares twice weekly. She would be his last appointment on Monday and Thursday evenings. Ares opposed to seeing Dr. Lecter so frequently but he was adamant and her appointments were scheduled. 

The morning after their first appointment, Dr. Lecter arranged Ares’s existence into three neat piles on his desk. In the first pile, her medical, psychiatric, and criminal records. In the second pile, her academic transcripts. In the final pile, her gymnastics documents and certifications. Having skimmed through the papers once before to familiarize himself with the information, Dr. Lecter was free to begin his second, more analytic reading. He ascended the ladder to his mezzanine library and pulled a fresh, leather-bound journal from the section of shelf dedicated to patient journals. The spine of the book cracked when it opened it in his hands. He blew through the pages before making his way back to his desk.

On the first page of the journal, he wrote her full name; Ares Gwyn Bellona. The date of their first appointment; Tuesday September 2nd, 2014. The time of their first appointment; 8:30 to 9:45. The second page of her journal was for the particulars of their initial encounter. The words flowed easily from the tip of Dr. Lecter’s pen as he replayed their conversation in his mind. He transcribed only what was necessary for record.

From the top drawer of his desk, Dr. Lecter retrieved a leather case the size of a large billfold. Inside, he had several sheets of circular stickers the size of coins. The stickers were organized by colour — blue, yellow, red. He peeled a blue sticker from a sheet. He pressed it to the spine of the journal. On the upper righthand corner of the front cover, another blue sticker was placed. He closed her journal, tapped the knuckles of his index and middle finger on it, and tucked it into the second drawer of his desk. He gathered Ares’s records and filed them away in a separate room in preparation for his first patient of the day.

The Thursday evening of their next appointment rumbled into existence with a tumultuous thunderstorm. Dr. Lecter divided his attention between the rain pounding against the windows of his office and the sketch beneath his fingertips. The clock in his peripheral signified three minutes to his scheduled appointment time with Ares. He confirmed the time on his wristwatch. He set his pencil down and stood up. He placed over his sketch a protective layer of onionskin paper before rolling it up and bringing it to a raised table topped with other sketches. Checking his wristwatch again, he looked towards the door. 

Dr. Lecter heard the dull thud of the front door from the public entrance of the building. It only produced an audible sound when it was slammed or blown shut. The sound of hurried footsteps down the hall followed. He approached the door and stepped outside, effectively stopping Ares in her tracks. Drenched, she stood before him, breathless and pale. She stepped back. Dr. Lecter found himself mildly appalled by her rain-soaked appearance.

“I’m not late,” Ares said, her words riding on an exhale.   
“No, you are not,” Dr. Lecter nodded. “Precisely on time.”  
Ares bowed her head.  
“Come, Ares,” he beckoned her with his arm. “Please.”

When Ares didn’t step forward, Dr. Lecter extended his hand and closed his fingers around her elbow to pull her into his office. He closed the door behind them and left Ares standing at the entrance while he went to retrieve a towel and a folded shirt and trouser pyjama set for her. He stood near the concealed entrance of a bathroom. 

“Ares.”  
No response.  
More firmly. “Ares.”

Her gaze snapped towards Dr. Lecter, eyes narrow as if overwhelmed by a bright light. Dr. Lecter watched her mind recalibrate as the animation returned to her features slowly. She nodded at nothing.

“Come here, Ares. I have dry clothes for you.”

Dr. Lecter slid the door open and placed the towel and pyjamas down on the dark marble countertop. He turned the light on as she entered the small space. 

“Dry off,” he said. He looked down at her, aware for the first time of the gap in their heights. “We will begin our appointment then. Leave your wet clothes in the hamper, they will be taken care of.”

Dr. Lecter closed the door after stepping out of the bathroom. Ares stood shivering for several seconds before pulling her sweater over her head, pulling the wet article of clothing off almost violently. She felt smothered in the moments it was over her head. She threw it to the floor, the echo of its wet weight slapping the tilted floor echoing around her. She peeled off her t-shirt and sports bra and then rolled her pants down, stepping out of them. Her teeth chattered audibly as she gathered up the towel and shook it open to wrap around her body. It felt hot against her skin, like it had just been taken off a heater. 

Ares felt three years old again, standing in the laundry room with her mother while she dressed her with clothes right out of the drier. She’d leave a drier sheet in Ares’s sleeve on purpose to tickle her daughter when she pulled it out. Ares nearly laughed at the phantom sensation against her wrist. Closing her eyes, she saw her mother. Tall and slender. Always smiling, always with her jet black hair in a braided chignon that looked like a crown on her head. Ares felt the softness of her mother’s linen pants against her cheek whenever she hugged her legs. 

A knock on the bathroom door pulled Ares so abruptly from her private fantasy that she nearly slipped on her wet clothes. 

“Do you require assistance, Ares?”  
“No,” she answered decisively. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Ares towelled off and pulled on the pyjamas Dr. Lecter had provided to her, both articles very clearly his own. They smelled strongly of laundry detergent and walnut wood and hung off her frame almost comically. She folded the towel and the wet clothes and placed them down in the circular leather hamper before emerging from the bathroom. 

Dr. Lecter looked her up and down. He nodded and turned to approach his chair, Ares following and sitting across from him. He set her patient journal aside on the glass table beside him and closed it with his pen marking his page. He folded his hands in his lap. 

“Did you walk here this evening, Ares?”  
She nodded.  
“There are ways other than walking to commute to my office.”  
Silence.  
Dr. Lecter drew in a quiet inhale. “How are you tonight?”  
“Fine. Thank you for the dry clothes.”  
He bowed his head. “I apologize for the inappropriate sizing of the outfit. If I had known you needed a change of clothes I would’ve made arrangements.”  
Silence.  
“How is the screaming today?”  
The skin of Ares’s temple rippled as her jaw clenched.   
“Describe it to me.”  
Silence.  
“Ares, you need to speak to me or else I cannot help you.”

Her hands, usually placid on her thighs, balled up into fists, her thumbs tucked against her palms. A vein on the side of her neck bulged as she forced a swallow. 

“Ares.”  
“Dr. Lecter,” she hissed.   
“Calm down, Ares.”  
“I am calm.”  
“Ares.”  
“I’m calm.”  
“Do you hear the screaming right now?”  
Silence.  
“Ares, you need to talk to me or else I cannot help you.”

Ares glossed over. Dr. Lecter stood up and moved close enough to her to kneel at her feet. He tilted her head back slightly and pulled the skin under her eye down carefully with his thumb. Her pupils had dilated to the size of saucers but were unresponsive to additional stimuli. He pursed his lips. He angled her head sideways and checked her other eye. Same unresponsiveness. He checked her pulse and her breathing and, after determining that she wasn’t on the verge of death, stood up and walked away, picking up her journal from the side table on his way to his desk.

Leaving her catatonic in her seat, he sat behind his desk and opened her journal. He dated the page and recorded the details of their brief appointment. He noted the weather, the time, their conversation, and her current condition and the questions that triggered her. He glanced up from his desk at Ares. She sat perfectly erect in her seat; shoulders back, neck tall, posture precise. Statuesque. 

Dr. Lecter steepled his fingers against his lips and watched Ares for several hours. He meditated on her condition. He meditated on himself, on his relation to Ares. His gaze drifted to the clock at the corner of his desk after the long period of stillness. It read seven minutes to midnight. Standing behind his desk, he approached Ares quietly. He looked down at her. He hopped up and landed purposely hard, the sound of his shoes hitting the hardwood of his office the same way a gymnast’s feet hit a mat after a successful dismount. Ares sucked in a shallow breath. She looked up at Dr. Lecter, body reanimating slowly.

“Our session has ended,” he told her.

Ares licked her lips and swallowed. Dr. Lecter stepped back and gestured for her to stand, which she did with ease and poise. He sensed the disorientation swelling behind the composed veneer of her fine face but decided against acknowledging it. Instead, he held his hand out towards the door of his office. 

“Ares, I will accompany you home this evening.”  
“I can walk, Dr. Lecter.”  
“Please,” he said. “I am Dr. Lecter between the hours of 8:30 and 9:45 to you. Anything preceding or succeeding, I am Hannibal.” Ares opened her mouth to speak but Hannibal shook his head. “I insist.”  
“Hannibal,” Ares nodded. 

Using his first name in his office wearing his elegant pyjama felt perversely satisfying. She felt heat pool at the back of her neck and at the tips of her ears. Hannibal smelled the sweetness of her timidity. It resembled cane sugar snapped right from its roots; earthy, saccharine. 

“The rain has not yet stopped, Ares. It would be irresponsible of me to allow you to walk in a storm. You’re my patient. I am responsible for your physical wellbeing as much as I am for your mental welfare.”

Ares knew better than to protest. Smiling almost unnoticeably, she accepted his offer to be driven home with a bow of her head.


	3. Absit Inuria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal makes the most of his morning after a patient cancels on him last minute.

Hannibal scheduled his appointments specifically to avoid large gaps of idle time between clients, but after a last minute cancellation Friday morning, he found himself with two free hours. Aggravated by the blatant disregard of his cancellation policy, Hannibal organized and re-organized his desk thrice until his petty annoyance subsided. He rose from his leather chair, pulled on a light coat, and left his office. 

The gymnastics studio Ares practiced and taught in was community funded. Poorly lit and smelling of sanitary wipes and cheap soap, it felt more like a daycare penitentiary than a fitness space. No one stood or sat behind the front desk when Hannibal entered so he took the liberty of letting himself in. He navigated the dingy hallways until he found a bay window that looked into the main training area. The equipment was sparse and dated. The window was smeared with greasy finger and forehead prints. Hannibal could smell every dollar store candy available in Baltimore smudged on the glass. Forcing himself to look beyond the dirty window, he saw Ares. 

She dressed in all black; black shorts, black hooded sweatshirt. She blended into the background amongst the other instructors dressed in bright pinks and neon yellows and greens. They were gathered around a high beam discussing something. Ares spoke while the others listened. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. He watched her lean muscles contract under her skin. She turned around and gestured towards a trampoline. Hannibal noticed a long scar on the back of her right thigh that dimpled when she put weight on that leg. It wrapped around to the front of her thigh and stopped just above her knee. Before he could conjure up a theory about its origin, Ares was up on the beam, her peers stepping back to watch her. She spoke while she balanced on her toes. Legs long, arms outstretched. She launched forward and hurled through the air. She landed. She hopped in her place on the beam to ground herself. She flipped again, again, again, and twice again to dismount. Her sweater rode up her torso in the air and Hannibal saw the tight contraction of her obliques. They reminded him of the flared gills on sharks. 

The instructors walked away from Ares. They continued to speak but they didn’t look back at their noir clad colleague. Ares walked in the opposite direction towards the trampoline. She bent over at the padded perimeter and strapped something around her ankles before hopping onto the vast canvas of elastic fabric. Testing her abilities with two controlled jumps, she moved more forcefully and gained height quickly. She reached what looked like a pipe and grabbed on with both hands. Hannibal noticed the same type of pipe ran across the entire ceiling of the space. It was not something meant to bare the weight of a human being, but Ares pulled her ankles up and hooked her inversion boots to it. She reclined slowly until she hung upside-down, fully extended.

Hannibal watched her hanging upside down. He watched as the instructors filed in with students and went about their lessons. Ares hung upside down for thirty full minutes before unhooking her ankles and dropping from the pipe. It was a clumsy move, uncontrolled and careless. She landed on her back and bounced up three times before lying flat on the trampoline. Hannibal counted thirty seconds before she stood up and went to get her students. 

Ares’s class consisted of five students; three girls, two boys. Each child appeared fidgety and overeager. They paced in small circles, pulled at their arms and fingers, and didn’t look at their instructor for more than a moment at a time. Seeing such hyperactive toddlers reminded Hannibal why he never conceded to the selfish notion of procreation. 

“Are you a first timer?”

Hannibal turned to face the woman beside him. She smelled of baby formula and a man’s drug store after shave. She wore faded jeans and her husband’s overcoat, the oversized shoulders dwarfing the already petite woman. She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, the loose tendrils of dry brown hair pinned back with children’s plastic clips. At her feet, a tattered pink duffel bag. 

“Is this your first time here?” She asked again.  
“Yes it is.”  
“Is your kid in there?”  
“No,” a polite smile flashed across Hannibal’s lips. “I came to see one of the instructors.”  
“Reese?”  
Hannibal shook his head.  
“We call her Reese, but her real name is Ereesa…Erees…Er—”  
“Ares.”  
“That’s it!”

Hannibal’s upper lip tugged up enough to expose the tips of his sharp canines over the bastardization of Ares’s name. He nodded wryly. 

“She’s as strange as her name is,” the woman chuckled.  
“Is she?”  
“Oh heck yeah! But she’s wonderful with the children,” she said quickly, almost as an apology for her jab at Ares’s persona. “She’s good at gymnastics, too, real good. But talking to her, trying to have a conversation…she doesn’t say much! She doesn’t like to look at people, either, she’s always looking off somewhere. My husband said she had dead eyes, he doesn’t think she’s right, you know,” the woman tapped her temple. “In the head. He didn’t like the idea of taking our daughter here for lessons but…it’s all we can afford.”  
Hannibal nodded. His silence urged the woman to continue, and continue she did.  
“But Polly likes her and says she really enjoys the class, so I have no problems with Reese. Polly is my daughter. She’s just in there, the little girl in purple tights.”

Hannibal shifted his gaze beyond the glass. Uninterested in the little girl in purple tights, he looked at Ares. She stood on her hands on the beam walking back and forth making shapes with her legs, much to the delight of her class seated cross-legged and enraptured in her display of athleticism. 

“Beautiful,” Hannibal said, almost in a whisper.  
“She’s my little angel,” the woman gushed. “Are you Reese’s dad?”  
“No, I am not. I am her friend.”  
“Oh, I understand! Her friend,” the woman chuckled and nudged Hannibal in the side of the arm. His lip tugged again. “You’re okay with that?”  
“Pardon me?”  
“You’re okay that she sees other men?”  
“Do other callers frequent this gym?”  
“Callers?”  
“Men.”  
“Well no, not that I’ve seen,” the woman shook her head. “But you know what they say about girls that are always wearing black.”  
“I’m afraid I do not know.”  
“They’re ashamed of themselves,” she whispered. “Black is a dirty colour, it’s a whor—”  
“Pardon me, I’ve lost track of the time,” Hannibal interjected forcefully. He pulled the sleeve of his coat and jacket up to look at the face of his watch. “I have an appointment to get to.”


	4. Ab Incunabulis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal coaxes information out of Ares about a prominent incident from her childhood

“Ares,” Hannibal greeted her. “Good evening, come in.”  
“Good evening, Dr. Lecter.”

Ares stood and entered Hannibal’s office in front of him. The smell of his cologne greeted her as brushed past him. Musky and clean. The familiar scent of warm amber wood became more pronounced when she neared her chair. She sat down and faced forward. Hannibal sat in front of her. 

“How are you tonight, Ares?”  
“Well.”

Hannibal turned slightly sideways in his seat and opened Ares’s patient journal to a fresh page. He placed his pen down in the spine of the book before facing Ares again.

“How are your gymnastics?”  
“Fine.”  
Hannibal studied her face. He folded his hands on one side of his lap. “Tell me what happened to you after your family was slaughtered.”

Ares’s slight recoil back into her seat signified that she was caught off guard by the question. Hannibal watched her answer percolate behind her eyes.

“Nothing happened.”  
“Ares.”  
“You read the report,” her brows knit together instantly. “You know what happened.”  
“I want to hear it from you.”  
Ares sighed.  
“Please,” Hannibal said. “Continue.”  
“I don’t remember.”  
Hannibal didn’t speak.   
Ares continued after several minutes of silence. “I remember the neighbours knocked the door down to get into the house. They found me sitting on the couch with my family rotting on the carpet in front of the TV. They were all screaming and crying until someone called the police.”  
“Continue.”   
“I was taken to a hospital. I was treated for dehydration. I was visited by different doctors for different things. They asked me questions, they took pictures of me, they took samples of my clothes and my spit and my hair.”  
Hannibal nodded, encouraging her to continue.   
“They kept me for a week.” Ares looked to Hannibal. He nodded again. “They kept me because I didn’t answer their questions. I saw more doctors, psychiatrists, social workers…someone from child services. My teachers came to visit me. They brought me balloons and stuffed animals. They talked to me, they all tried to make me talk. They ran hearing tests, scans…blood tests, eye tests,” Ares raised her shoulders. “I was given a clean bill of health and sent to an orphanage because I had no legal guardians.”   
“Did you make friends at the orphanage?”  
She shook her head.  
“Did you grow close to any of the supervising adults?”  
Another shake of her head.  
“Do you know why your parents were murdered?”  
Nothing.  
“Ares,” Hannibal leaned forward in his chair, elbows digging into the tops of his knees. “Do you know why your parents were murdered?”   
Silence.

Hannibal could see her beginning to gloss over again. He clapped his hands together once. The booming sound pulled Ares back. He reclined slightly in his chair and buttoned his jacket with one hand. He crossed his legs and bobbed his foot for a moment. Ares looked at him, lips pressed together tightly. 

“When did you resume your gymnastics and schooling?”  
“A week after I arrived at the orphanage. Life went on like nothing had happened.”  
“That’s what life is, Ares. An aggressive force of forward movement. One must run to keep up. Did you run?”  
She nodded.  
“You kept up.”  
Another nod.  
“You made it this far. I would consider that an accomplishment. You should feel proud.”  
She shook her head.  
“What do you feel?”  
“Out of breath.”

Hannibal sat up straight in his chair. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows perched on the top of his thighs. Ares felt especially close to him tonight, like their knees would bump if one of them moved too quickly or carelessly. He steepled his fingers.

“Ares, I want you to think of these sessions as breaks. You come here to catch your breath, to repair your muscles, to replenish your body. I will be your coach.”  
“That’s a new metaphor,” she laughed weakly. “None of my other psychiatrists have ever used it before.”  
“I am not like your other psychiatrists.”

The severity in Hannibal’s tone startled her. His eyes, his tone, the way he sat before her — he was very clearly unlike any other doctor she’d seen in her lifetime. He filled the room they were in like a flood of black water. He was a force, a power, both physically and intellectually. He intimidated Ares, but not to the point of fearing him. She felt pulled towards him as though proximity to Dr. Lecter ensured safety. Survival. 

Ares nodded. Hannibal smiled. 

“What else would you like to talk about this evening, Ares?”  
She raised her shoulders. “Anything.”


	5. Translaticiarum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into Ares's daily life

Ares slept best on Monday and Thursday nights. Her sessions with Dr. Lecter were conducive to getting a good night’s sleep. She dozed off easily and awoke to the sound of her shrill alarm clock feeling refreshed and unburdened by graphic night terrors. Her morning routines were easiest Tuesdays and Fridays.

Out of bed, she’d go to her kitchenette and drink three glasses of tap water in rapid succession. From there, back to her bedroom to change out of her pyjamas and into her spandex running shorts, a sports bra, and a grey hooded sweatshirt that read COACH across the back in white varsity letters. She’d slip on her running shoes and dart out of the apartment. 

At 4:30 am, with the moon still visible against the matte black sky, the air outside felt cold and crisp. She would run five fast kilometres to an old park with a jungle gym. There, she used the children’s playthings to get in her daily strength training. After a long, deep, full body stretch session, she used the swings, the monkey bars, and the park bench for plyometric circuits. She counted her repetitions and sets in her head and kept a tally of how many rounds she completed. She stretched again and then jogged back home. 

Ares couldn’t afford to shower at home so she made the most of using the bathroom at the gymnastics studio. After a long bike ride across the city to the studio carrying her backpack stuffed full with a towel and a change of clothes, she’d let herself into the building through the back door and go right to the change rooms. She brushed her teeth, showered, and dressed herself before anyone else arrived. She used the laundry machines in the staff lounge room to wash her clothes.

Her first class at 10 am ran until noon. She then had an hour to herself which she usually spent walking two blocks to the bakery to buy a twenty-five cent day old chocolate eclair for lunch. If she was the only patron in the bakery, the owner would give her a carton of chocolate milk for free. She was seldom the only patron. 

Arriving back at the studio meant being on the canvas for more classes. 1 to 3, 3 to 5, 5 to 8. The studio closed at 9 pm. Ares ate dinner at a greasy spoon around the corner at 9:15 and returned to the studio by 9:30. She would leave for home an hour later after cleaning the main studio space. The extra time earned her a bonus of fifty dollars each pay check. 

On a good night, Ares fell asleep as soon as she got into bed. On a bad night when she couldn’t keep her demons at bay, she slept fitfully and in short intervals. Those nights often left her waking up in a sweaty tangle of bedsheets either at the foot of her bed or on the floor. The days following those nights were difficult and never-ending. Tiredness meant drinking the free coffee in the staff lounge. Drinking the free coffee meant getting jittery. Getting jittery meant not being able to sleep later on. A vicious cycle until her next session with Dr. Lecter.


	6. Ante Cibum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal cooks for Ares for the first time.

“Winter may come early this year.” 

Hannibal observed Ares standing in the small sitting area with her back to the door. She had been looking at the paintings on the wall before she turned around to face him.

“I must insist that you call me on the evenings when the weather is this unfavourable, Ares. Please,” he beckoned her towards him.  
“You look ready to go somewhere,” Ares said as she entered his office.   
“Yes, I’m going home.”  
“We have an appointment tonight.”  
Hannibal guided Ares towards the bathroom with his fingers against the back of her wet shoulder. “Yes we do.”  
“Did you forget about it?”  
“I did not, Ares. I decided a change of location was in order for this evening’s session.”  
“Are you going to take me back to my childhood home?”  
Hannibal’s lips curled into a half smile. “Not tonight, Ares. We will be going to my home. I’ve prepared dinner.”  
Ares turned to look at Hannibal in the doorway of the bathroom. “What if I already had dinner?”  
“Did you?”  
“No.”  
“Then there is no problem with us sharing a meal tonight.” 

Hannibal gestured for her to enter the bathroom and change into the clothes he had set out for her. In a neat pile on the dark marble countertop beside two rolled towels, a set of tailored pyjamas sat waiting for Ares to change into. Black with a stark white hem. Hannibal guessed her measurements but was confident that he estimated correctly. He offered a smile as he closed the door behind her. 

While Ares showered and changed, Hannibal organized the books on his desk. He made a notation in his daily planner before closing it and setting it aside beneath his smaller appointment diary. He leafed through his sketch book, eyeing the charcoal portrait he had been working on while he awaited Ares’s arrival. He placed a fine sheet of onion skin over it and closed the book. He lined up his stick of charcoal and scalpel alongside the spine. Turning the light off at his desk, he crossed his office in darkness to retrieve his overcoat. He felt the pockets for his keys and mobile phone. In his breast pocket, his billfold. 

Ares emerged from the bathroom, a small cloud of steam dissipating behind her. Hannibal looked over his shoulder at her.

“It fits,” Hannibal said with tremendous satisfaction.   
“It does.”

Ares held the hem of the shirt between the pads of her fingers, massaging the lush material. She’d never worn something so soft before, she felt naked without the weight of a hoodie on her shoulders and the taught strap of a sports bra around her chest. 

“It’s silk crepe de chin,” Hannibal told her. He took a second overcoat off the rack and held it open for her. “A very light and breathable fabric. My clothier was kind enough to indulge my request to have the pyjama set made for you on very short notice this morning. It’s not ideal for the outdoors, but I assure you this coat will compensate handsomely against the elements.”

Ares stepped towards Hannibal with her arms up. He put the coat on her with ease and turned her around to close it over her front. A smile rippled from one end of his mouth to the other as he fastened its buttons. Ares knew he was amused with how oversized the coat was on her; knee-length on Hannibal meant floor-length on her. He lifted the collar around her neck.

“Please,” he opened the door of his office. “After you.”  
“Thank you very much, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal was struck by the playful mischief in her voice. He nodded with exaggerated courtesy and watched her trot past him. She smelled of his soap, his shampoo, his cologne. Beneath those familiar smells, Ares herself. Cool and sharp, like the spray of a citrus rind on a winter morning. There was no heat to her scent. Ares turned on her toes as Hannibal closed and locked the office door. 

“This way, Ares.”

Instead of leaving his office the way she was accustomed to, Hannibal lead her down to the underground parking lot. Hannibal’s black Bentley, its polished paint glinting under the yellow lights, was the sole car in the entire lot. Their footsteps echoed as they neared it. Hannibal unlocked the doors with a press of a button. He opened the passenger door for Ares. She thanked him with another devilish phrase of gratitude. Hannibal smiled. He walked around the front of the car and got into the driver’s seat to start the car.

“Seat warmer,” Hannibal said, turning both his and Ares’s on. 

No music played as they drove. Ares felt like she’d gone back in time being inside Hannibal’s car. Wooden dashboard, wooden trim on the doors, wooden detailing. The seat warmed quickly behind her, the sensation sending waves of cozy satisfaction through her. She leaned her head back as Hannibal pulled out of his parking spot and started for his home. 

Ares had no expectations arriving at Hannibal’s house, but she wasn’t disappointed. The elegance present in his office carried to his private life. High, vaulted ceilings made his home appear palace-like. Art and sculptures adorned every wall, each piece tasteful and well-placed. Ares didn’t know where to look first.

“Allow me,” Hannibal unbuttoned Ares’s coat to take it off. “I trust it kept you warm.”  
“For the thirty seconds from your car to the front door, I was fine,” she said, her appreciation for the coat audible beneath her remark. 

Hannibal bowed his head as he hung the coat in his closet. He produced a pair of slippers for her to wear which were similar to his own, but made to Ares’s size. On the face of the slippers embroidered in gold thread against the black velvet, Ares’s initials; AGB. 

“Do all your patients get custom slippers?”  
“You’re the first,” Hannibal said from halfway down the hallway. “Follow me, Ares.”

She slipped her feet into the plush house shoes and made her way down the long hallway to his kitchen. It was a vast space filled with state of the art equipment and lots of counter space. A stainless steel countertop, the centrepiece of his kitchen, reminded her of a mortuary table. Hannibal stood behind it, a starchy white apron tied securely around his waist.

“Have you cooked before, Ares?”  
She shook her head.  
“I insist you learn this evening,” he leaned forward and put his hand on his knife block. He turned it towards Ares. “There’s an apron on the hook beside the wooden butcher’s table. Please.”

Ares nodded. She took up the apron and folded it in half as Hannibal had with his own before tying it around her waist. She approached the stainless steel work station and rested her fingers on the cold surface. Hannibal had very clearly prepared everything in advance, but he wanted Ares to help him design the dish, to prepare their feast. 

Hannibal learned that Ares was a quick study. Her knife technique improved significantly at the mention of her form. She understood the finer points of Hannibal’s methods of molecular gastronomy as he explained them. She was able to connect concepts with practice almost seamlessly. Pleased with her performance, he sent her to the table.

He pulled out her chair, assured her he would be back quickly, and left her alone in the dining room to finish dinner preparations. The long table she sat at seemed fit for a castle. They occupied a fraction of it — Hannibal at the head, Ares to his right. Their place settings were both extravagant, at least by Ares’s standards. She had more silverware before her now than she currently owned. The plates, the glasses, the elegantly rolled napkins; it was overwhelming. Hannibal appeared a moment later carrying two plates. He set one down in front of Ares.

“Langue d’agneau en papillotte served with a sauce of duxelles and oyster mushrooms,” he said with great pride as he sat down at his place.  
Ares looked down at the plate and then over at Hannibal. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Hannibal laughed. It was a low sound, an amusement that rumbled deep within his chest and barely managed to materialize into an audible utterance. He took up his fork and knife.

“You eat it, my dear Ares. I’ve prepared it especially for you. I even chose the lamb myself.”

Ares picked up her fork and knife and cut a tentative piece. She brought the morsel of food to her mouth slowly, as if being forced to do so against her will. She ate it expecting a violent burst of foreign flavours but was pleasantly relieved. Warm and soft, the langue d’agneau tasted almost buttery on her tongue.

“This is delicious.”  
Hannibal smiled and bowed his head. “Enjoy it. Savour it.”


	7. Ad Libitum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief continuation of Ares and Hannibal's first meal together.

Ares’s first taste of alcohol was had under the watchful eye of Dr. Hannibal Lecter during their first dinner together. He uncorked a mild blend he bottled himself and explained to her the finer points of wine tasting and proper drinking etiquette. Ares expected disappointment to follow Hannibal’s grand build up of the wine, but she delighted in the smooth flavour of the crimson liquid. Its flavour lavished the inside of her mouth on her first sip. She swallowed and parted her lips to draw in a small puff of air. It heightened the taste on her tongue. She looked to Hannibal. With his eyes closed and head tilted slightly back, he seemed profoundly moved by the wine. Ares felt like a voyeur watching him. He opened his eyes and returned her gaze.

“Do you like it, Ares?”  
She nodded. 

Hannibal smiled, satisfied. He detailed the ingredients of the wine and the barrel he housed it in to her. Ares listened intently, hypnotized by Hannibal’s passion for flavour, and above all, perfection. It fascinated her. The Dr. Lecter she had come to know during their sessions seemed like a figment of her imagination hearing him wax poetic now about the food they shared and the wine they drank. When he rose from his seat, Ares felt like she had been yanked from a dream. She looked up at him.

“It is time for dessert,” he said. 

He gathered their dinner plates and balanced them up the length of his arm to bring into the kitchen. Ares listened expecting to hear them drop down on the counter or clank in the sink, but she heard nothing except for the soft padding of Hannibal navigating the kitchen. He appeared a few minutes later with the final course.

“Jaffa millefeuilles,” he placed Ares’s plate before her. “Cacao and mandarin flavoured jaffa mousse between two pillows of pâte feuilletée.” 

Just as the dishes before it had appeared too beautiful to eat, the dessert looked like it should’ve been encased in glass and set on a pedestal to be displayed in a museum. Ares didn’t know whether to eat it or take a picture of it.

“Hmm,” Ares hummed thoughtfully as Hannibal put his own plate down and sat at his place. “I’m going to pretend I know what any of that means.”

The low, droning sound of Hannibal’s amusement surprised himself as much as it did Ares. He looked at her with a tangible fondness in his eyes, a warmth that sparked fire to rise on the back of her neck and the tips of her ears.

“Pâte feuilletée is French for butter puff pastry. Jaffa mousse is a rich mousse made with very dark chocolate. Its bitterness is countered by the sweetness of the mandarin orange and the heaviness of the cream. This is a luxurious dessert, Ares.”  
“And how do I go about eating this luxurious dessert, Dr. Lecter?”  
“I’ve seen it consumed several ways,” Hannibal rose from his seat, fingers lingering over the buttons of his waistcoat. 

He removed his jacket as though it were made of fine bone china and folded it neatly over the back of his chair. Ares watched him. He walked around to the vacant seat to Ares’s right and lowered himself into it. He took up her fork and knife.

“A chef feeding his guests a meal he has prepared for them is seen is a tremendous act of humility,” he said, cutting carefully into the pastry. He held the fork up and smoothed the bite with the blade of the knife. “Open.”

Ares leaned over, mouth open and expectant. Hannibal fed her, head tilting slightly up as her lips closed around the first taste. He withdrew the fork. 

“How does it taste, Ares?”  
“Exquisite.”


	8. Post Cibum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal surprises Ares with breakfast.

Ares woke up slowly with the sun in her eyes and silence all around her. The weight of the blankets pulled up to her shoulders felt heavy on top of her. She buried her face between two pillows with her eyes still closed. She inhaled deeply. Hannibal filled her lungs. His scent surrounded her like arms around her neck, a hand over her mouth. 

She withdrew her face from the pillows suddenly as if the fabric singed her skin. She rolled over and kicked the blankets off her before springing out of bed. She glanced at the circular clock that hung over the headboard of the bed and saw that it was nearly noon. She grabbed her clothes — clean, dry, and folded in a neat pile — from the chaise at the foot of the bed and pulled everything on over her pyjamas as she stumbled towards the door. She was a step shy of leaving the room when she saw Hannibal in the doorway.

Dressed in a light grey suit with his hair slicked back impeccably, he stood tall and alert, arms slack by his sides. He tilted his head to a slight angle and nodded to Ares.

“Good afternoon.”  
“I’m late.”  
Hannibal shook his head. “You have the day off today, Ares.”  
“What?”  
“I saw to it myself, I telephoned your superior and called in on your behalf.”  
“What did you say?”  
“Ares is indisposed.”  
“I have classes today.”  
“The other instructors will cover your classes today, Ares.”  
Silence.  
“I’ve just prepared lunch,” he told her, stepping back and to the side to allow Ares a path to leave. “Join me, please.”

Without waiting for a response, Hannibal turned and left the bedroom. Ares listened to his footsteps soften down the hallway before disappearing down the stairs to his main level. She ran her hands through her hair, pushing the messy brown locks back off her face. The naked space on her wrist where she usually kept a black hair tie made her frown. She picked her pants up off the floor and checked the pockets. No hair tie. She combed her fingers through her hair and she stood in front of the mirror above Hannibal’s vanity. 

Hannibal’s room felt more like a gallery than a bedroom. His walls, especially where his bed sat, held several works of art, all framed and displayed luxuriously. His furniture was dark, almost black, and polished to perfection. The top of his vanity held only a crimson runner, a bottle of cologne, and a small picture frame. Ares took up the object, startled at its weight. She wondered if the frame was real gold as she ran her thumb over its intricate pattern. The black and white picture behind the glass was heavily weathered with folds that cut down and across like a crucifix. She noticed the damage before she saw the subject. A small child, a little girl. She appeared delighted to have her photo taken; eyes wide, mouth open in a broad grin. She smiled. For a moment she saw her own young face behind the glass of the frame, behind the deep folds and creases of the photograph. She put the frame down. 

She fixed her hair, put her clothes back on the chaise, and left the bedroom to make her way to the dining room. This morning, the place settings were across from each other. Orange juice and lemon water filled decanters in place of wine. Where there had been an ominous centrepiece the previous night, there now sat a tall vase of fresh, wild flowers. Their aroma filled the room.

Hannibal came up behind Ares and touched the small of her back. The thin layer of pyjama fabric between his fingers and her skin felt non-existent. 

“Please, sit down,” he said. His touch left as quickly as it came. “I’ve prepared breakfast for lunch.”  
“What unpronounceable meal have you made, Dr. Lecter?”  
A growl of amusement echoed in his mouth as he pulled Ares’s chair out for her. “A Monte Cristo.”  
“Hm,” Ares almost laughed. “Thank you for making something I can pronounce.”  
Hannibal wagged his finger playfully as he leaned over Ares to pour her a glass of orange juice. “This meal will be as elegant as the meal we shared last night, Ares.”

Ares felt the heat of his body at her shoulder. Whatever half sarcastic response she had on deck vanished before it reached her mouth. She looked down at her plate. The line of Hannibal’s throat filled her peripheral. She watched his Adam’s apple bob with a swallow. 

“Would you like a coffee?”  
“The juice is enough,” she answered, words coming out nearly in a whisper. 

Hannibal bowed his head and stood up straight to leave the room. She listened to him gather up plates from his morgue slab countertop. 

“This is my interpretation of a Monte Cristo,” Hannibal said, lowering her plate down before her. “I baked the bread myself this morning while you slept. Brushed with butter, toasted in a pan to crisp. Inside, gruyere cheese with Jambon de Bayonne that I made and cured earlier this year.”

Hannibal walked around the table to his place and put his plate down before taking his seat. He looked at Ares as he opened a napkin in his lap. Ares’s attention was on her sandwich, which looked more like an art instalment than a meal. She didn’t understand how a Monte Cristo could be made to look so picturesque. She almost didn’t want to eat it.

“Bon apetit, Ares.”

She looked up at him and nodded a thank you. Hannibal waited for Ares to take the first bite before he began his own sandwich.

“You’re dressed for work today.”

Hannibal looked across the table at her. He felt tremendous satisfaction having her be the one to initiate a conversation. 

“Yes I am,” he said after chewing and swallowing his mouthful. He sipped his orange juice. “I’ve already had two appointments this morning.”  
“Before or after you baked bread?”  
Hannibal cracked half a smile. “After.”  
“What time did you wake up at this morning?”  
“5 am, as I do every morning. It allows me time for myself before I have patients.”  
“What time was your first appointment at?”  
“9 am.”  
“When did you bake the bread?”  
“It was in the oven by 6 am.”  
Ares nodded.  
“Do you like it?”  
Another nod.  
He bowed his head graciously.  
“Do you make Monte Cristos for your other patients?”  
“No, you are the first and only so far.”  
“Does this count as a session?”  
“No, we are simply eating together. I am not your doctor as much as you’re not my patient right now, Ares.”  
“Are we friends?”  
“Would you like for us to be friends?”  
Silence.  
“I will be for you whatever it is you need me to be, Ares.”  
She nodded.

Hannibal smiled. He enjoyed the first half of his sandwich before he spoke again. Ares continued to eat.

“Did you sleep well last night?”  
She nodded without looking up from her plate.  
“Was the bed to your liking?”  
Another nod.  
“Did you have any nightmares?”  
She shook her head.  
“Ares, do you remember what we did last night?”  
She lifted her eyes to Hannibal’s face slowly, fearfully. She shook her head again.  
“We ate dinner, we drank wine,” he said. “We had dessert. We drank brandies. Do you remember what we did after that?”  
Ares’s mouth hung open, her lips trembling. “No.”  
“You fell asleep in your seat and I brought you to my bed where you continued to sleep for a short few minutes.”  
“And then what?”  
“You woke up screaming.”  
Ares stiffened in her chair. Her appetite disappeared.  
“I administered a sedative and it had no effect on you. It took me twenty five minutes to calm you down, Ares. You were violent. You screamed to the point of exasperation.”

Silence swelled between them. Ares kept her eyes downcast on her plate but Hannibal stared intently at her. There wasn’t a trace of guilt or remorse to be found in her somber features. Embarrassment coloured her ears deep crimson. 

“Did I hurt you?”  
“No, Ares,” he lifted his glass of orange juice to his lips and took three indulgent drinks. “You caused me no harm. Concern, yes, but no harm.”  
She nodded.  
“You wouldn’t let me leave the bed when I finally calmed you down. You clung to me like a child. You begged me to protect you. What did I need to protect you from last night, Ares?”  
Silence.

Hannibal waited for a response but he knew he would not receive on. He licked his lips and took up the second half of his Monte Cristo. 

“Ares, finish your lunch,” he said. “Before it gets cold.”


	9. Fastidium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ares returns home to her apartment.

The comfort Ares used to feel upon returning to her apartment was replaced by a more potent feeling of disgust. After spending the night and a full day with Hannibal in his luxurious home enjoying the spoils of his sophisticated lifestyle, Ares resented the squalor she lived in. The stale air, the musty sheets, the tiny rooms. 

She stood at the front door for a long time imagining and re-imagining what being in Hannibal’s house felt like. The warm floors. The flood of natural light when the curtains were drawn. The aromas that emanated constantly from his kitchen. 

Ares closed her eyes and placed herself back in Hannibal’s bedroom, between the sheets, warm under the glow of morning. She smiled. She felt the heat of the sun on the back of her neck and her shoulders. The weight of the blanket. The impossible softness of her pyjamas and the linens around her. She saw Hannibal in bed with her, his face far away across a long row of pillows, his features half obstructed by one, his hair loose and dishevelled at his temple. She watched him open his eyes slowly and blink himself into awake consciousness. She felt him close the gulf of space between them so that they were nose to nose. 

The architecture of the fantasy crumbled instantly when Ares forced her eyes open. She snapped herself out of the reverie so aggressively that she stumbled back against the front door. The entire wall behind her rattled as she stood up and looked around. Hannibal was as disarming in thought as he was in person.

She kicked her shoes off and crossed her apartment to her bedroom. She changed the sheets, switching out one stale set of linens for another, and undressed before crawling into bed. It was barely dark outside, but Ares had an early morning ahead of her and a long day of classes, she knew she needed to get as much rest as she could manage.


	10. Pax Intrantibus, Salus Exeuntibus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ares attends her next appointment with Hannibal worse for wear.

Hannibal felt Ares’s absence as incessantly as a pebble under his heel. Silence with her in the room had weight, it had texture. Silence by himself seemed as hollow as a copper pot. Hannibal shifted in his office chair. He fingered the spine of a medical text on the side of his desk to straighten it. He folded his hands over his closed appointment book and looked beyond the space between the chairs his therapy took place in to the window. The sheer curtains glowed with sunlight. His second patient of the day knocked. Hannibal turned out the light in Ares’s room behind his eyes. He answered the door. The session began promptly. 

The light in the room Hannibal built for Ares remained off for the remainder of the day and through the week until their next appointment. He kept bars in front of the door, thick and sturdy, to keep himself out and Ares in. The room beyond the bars and behind the door was small. White walls, white floors. No furniture, no art, no windows. Just Ares, dressed in black, standing in the centre of the cubic cell he fashioned for her. He willed her to smile but her face remained indifferent as it always was. Even his creation of her did not succumb easily to his charm. 

An hour prior to their scheduled appointment, Hannibal removed the bars. He opened the door and greeted his private version of Ares. He expanded her cell luxuriously. Veins of black marble divided the stark whiteness of the floor like bolts of lightning. The walls doubled in height and the ceiling above them glowed black and pearly white as the details of Ivan Aivazovsky’s Battle of Chesma sharpened themselves into existence. Hannibal looked to Ares for her approval of the painting. She shook her head. The entire room crumbled around them. Hannibal snapped out of his reverie and fixated on the door of his office. He stood so quickly from his office chair that it rolled back two feet from his desk. He crossed the room in two steps and swung the door open. 

Ares stood in the threshold. The smell of her warm blood, fresh and pulsing, stung the insides of his nostrils. 

“Why is your face bleeding?” He barked.

Hannibal took her chin between the pad of his thumb and the tip of his index finger and turned her head to the side to examine the coin sized scrape that blemished her paled skin. The injury glistened in its freshness, the raw skin bright red and slightly swollen. She smelled bitter this evening.

“Ares, why is your face bleeding?”

Though her head was up, at the hand of Dr. Lecter, her eyes were downcast, nearly shut. Hannibal released her chin and moved his grip down to her forearm to guide her inside. Ares yelped. It was a vicious sound, searing, like an animal left within an inch of its life after an attack. Her distress hummed between his ears like a church hymn echoing between pews. The smell of bone marrow ribboned into his nose and to his palette. Hannibal swallowed the saliva that pooled beneath his tongue.

“You’re hurt, Ares.”

He lead her into his office gently and wrapped his coat around her shoulders, pulling it closed over her front. He raised the collar around her neck and moved wayward strands of hair behind her ears. She had no piercings. 

“What happened to you, Ares?”  
Silence.  
“Did someone do this to you?”  
She shook her head.

Hannibal gave the tips of the collar he had just raised around Ares’s neck a small tug before helping her snake her left arm through the sleeve of the coat properly. She kept her right arm tight against her body, the sleeve of her sweater pulled completely over her hand. He turned the lights off in his office and walked Ares to his car. 

“My keys are in this pocket, Ares,” he told her.

He reached carefully into the right pocket of his coat on Ares. He could feel the feverish warmth of her body through silk of the pocket. He pulled his keys out and unlocked the car. He helped Ares into the passenger seat, fastening her seatbelt cautiously before walking around to the driver’s side and getting in. Starting the car and revving the engine twice, he shifted into gear and exited the underground parking lot.

“A gentlemen I attended school with runs a private practice,” Hannibal said to Ares. His eyes remained forward on the dark road as he spoke. “He’s a medical doctor. I trust him with my life, you can trust him with yours.”

Ares didn’t look at Hannibal during the drive, nor did Hannibal look at Ares. They both sat in their seats, eyes trained straight ahead. When they arrived at the private clinic, Ares got out of the car before Hannibal had the chance to walk around to help her. He watched her. She moved with poise and ease despite her injury. Ever the gymnast, he mused. They fell in step with each other as they ascended the shallow steps that lead to the door. Hannibal entered a code on a concealed touchpad. Two short beeps sounded before the door unlocked and opened automatically. Ares entered first.

They navigated two hallways before reaching the doctor’s office. Hannibal knocked twice and stepped inside. The two men exchanged pleasantries.

“This is Ares Bellona,” Hannibal introduced her.  
“Dr. Maxwell Frost,” he extended hand towards Ares. “It’s a pleasure.”  
She nodded without looking at him.  
Dr. Frost withdrew his hand, fingers curling into a loose fist. He looked to Hannibal. “I can see that cheek needs some attention.”  
“Her arm as well, Dr. Frost. I suspect a Colles fracture.”  
Dr. Frost nodded. “In that case, let’s get you to an x-ray room, we’ll see what we’re dealing with.”  
“Ares,” Hannibal gestured for her to follow Dr. Frost.   
“Come too,” she said in a low voice, just loud enough for Hannibal to hear.

Following Dr. Frost, Ares trailed two steps behind him with Hannibal at her flank. They fell in step again as they approached the elevator. The three stepped in. They rose two floors. Dr. Frost lead the way to the x-ray room. Hannibal waited in the hallway while the x-ray was being performed. He was allowed in when they finished.

“Just as you said,” Dr. Frost pinned the x-ray sheets to a light frame. “Colles fracture. A beautiful one, if I may say. The bone isn’t too badly displaced, surgery will not be necessary. A simple closed reduction ought to correct the alignment of the bone. You’ll have a splint for a few days until the swelling subsides. When you come back in, you’ll be fitted for a proper plaster cast for the remaining six weeks.”  
“Simple enough,” Hannibal responded. Ares had her head down. “Her cheek?”

Dr. Frost stepped closer to Ares. He touched the underside of her chin to tilt her head up enough for him to examine the injury. She looked away from him. 

“No stitches necessary, if that was your concern,” he said to both Ares and Hannibal. “Some peroxide and a bandage for a few days. It’s superficial, it will heal quickly. You may develop some bruising beneath the eye.” He moved back from Ares and replaced the blue surgical gloves he wore with a fresh pair. “What level of pain are you experiencing right now with your wrist, Miss Bellona? I can administer a local anesthetic for the reduction.”

Hannibal angled his head in an attempt to catch Ares’s gaze, but she was elsewhere. Her left arm hung limp at her side, the sleeve of Hannibal’s coat falling far past her hand. He took up her arm and reached up the sleeve to her fingers, holding them tenderly as he pushed the cuff up to her wrist. He held her cool hand between both of his and nodded to Dr. Frost to proceed with the reduction without the anesthetic. Dr. Frost complied.

Ares did not respond to Dr. Frost pushing and pressing at her wrist to re-align the bone. Her fingers twitched once between Hannibal’s hands, but her face remained unchanged. He soothed her fingers into a fist and cupped his hands around it. She had long, thin fingers, almost dainty. Her hand appeared childishly small swallowed by Hannibal’s significant grip. 

Dr. Frost completed the reduction and fitted her with a black splint. He tended to her cheek afterwards, disinfecting it and applying a balm to help the healing process. Ares closed her eyes when he applied the gauze bandage, taping it carefully into place. 

“An anti-inflammatory and some pain relief,” Dr. Frost removed his gloves and tossed them into the trash. He scrawled the prescription out and handed it to Hannibal.   
“Thank you, Maxwell,” Hannibal tucked the paper into the breast pocket of his jacket after folding it neatly in half.   
Dr. Frost nodded graciously. “Will she be all right?”  
“She will be coming home with me and will be under my very careful observation, I assure you.”


	11. Beati Possidentes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal offers an ultimatum to Ares being institutionalized.

Hannibal arranged for Ares to return to work in two weeks. He spoke with the appropriate powers at the community centre and made sure that Ares’s classes would be taken care of while she recuperated. Regarding her injuries, he said only what was necessary. Her superior didn’t ask many questions.

Between appointments, Hannibal nursed Ares back to health as if she were a sparrow with an injured wing. When she regained lucid consciousness several days after her initial appointment with Dr. Frost, he realized she was less a sparrow and more a rabid wolf. 

“We have an appointment with Dr. Frost this evening to be fitted for a plaster cast,” Hannibal said as he sat on the edge of the bed closest to Ares.

She sat up against the headboard of the bed, her splinted wrist resting on two pillows. She had slept for the better part of five days, waking up only for an hour each day to shower and eat, doing each activity in the same catatonic state he saw her fall into during their second appointment. He considered it a most curious defence mechanism — clearly advanced, very effective. Returning to normal consciousness for her was like waking up from a nap, she had no concept of the time she’d lost.

“We?”  
“Yes, Ares,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “I will be accompanying you tonight.”  
Ares nodded.  
“I have no more appointments for the remainder of the day, Ares. I want you to get out of bed and get dressed. We will go to your apartment and you will pack your things.”  
She looked at Hannibal.   
“I want you to stay with me from now on. I have a professional responsibility for your wellbeing and I have come to the conclusion that you are not safe by yourself.”  
“What’s the alternative?”  
“Being institutionalized.”   
Silence.  
“Neither of us would prefer the alternative,” he told her as he stood up. “I have cleared a section of my closet for you, Ares, you will have a place for you things.”  
“What if I say no?”  
Hannibal turned his body so that he faced her. He tilted his head sideways, face languid, almost soft. “Why would you say no?”

Ares felt her spine shudder one disc at a time. Her breath stuck in her throat like the air had taken on the density of concrete. She opened her mouth but no words came out. Hannibal raised his eyebrows expectantly for several seconds.

“Hm,” he smiled. “I thought not. Get dressed, Ares. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

He left the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Ares got out of bed and showered, doing so quickly. She towelled off in the bathroom before changing into her own clothes, which Hannibal had laundered and left folded neatly on his vanity. She met him in the foyer of his home. He smiled at her and they left.

Ares felt debilitating shame as they entered her apartment building. It pooled in her chest thick and heavy as they made the six level climb to her floor using the stairwell. Her hand trembled so noticeably when they reached her front door that her keys rattled against the lock. Hannibal closed his fingers around Ares’s hand to stop the trembling. He took the keys from her and dropped them into his coat pocket. 

“Is there anything in your apartment that you absolutely require?”  
She shook her head wordlessly.   
“Then we needn’t go inside.”

Hannibal turned her around and back down the hallway towards the stairwell. He kept an arm securely around her shoulders to keep her close against his side until they reached the stairs. She went down ahead of him but Hannibal remained near her, half prepared to lunge forward for her if she misstepped. Back in his car, Ares seemed more at ease. Hannibal pulled up his sleeve to look at his watch.

“We have plenty of time for a change of plans,” he said to her.  
“For?”  
“I’m going to introduce you to my tailor, Ares.”


	12. Auribus Teneo Lupum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has difficulty managing urges; Ares has a breakthrough in her treatment.

Keeping himself occupied had never been a problem until Ares awoke in him a frenetic urge so mighty in him that Hannibal often found himself completely and absolutely restive. His sessions with his patients throughout the week became more volatile. While this environment was surprisingly conducive to significant breakthroughs with his difficult cases, his more timorous patients found it difficult to cope with the shift in energy and withdrew further into themselves. Their retreat fed Hannibal’s frenzied inner state.

Hannibal inventoried the urges he kept balanced within himself before returning home one evening; to protect, to survive, to kill, to consume. Fundamentally primitive, cogent impulses. This new compulsion did not fit in with what he was familiar with. It was a mutation of forces, something that drew from different veins in him that had not yet been tapped. Hannibal felt defenceless to extinguish this feeling. That defencelessness, the simple fact of being unable to explicitly control something inside himself, vexed him. 

At home, close to Ares, his agitation went dormant.

Ares, under Hannibal’s watchful eye and nurturing care, enjoyed significant improvements in her health. Enjoying Hannibal’s cooking three times a day over the course of the week saw her physique blossom. Her already slender figure tightened noticeably in that time, so much so that her clothes needed to be taken in several inches since they were made. His wildly artful and densely nutritious offerings were a departure from the stale bakery scraps and greasy spoon meals she had been sustaining on for the entirety of her adult life. Physically, she thrived.

Mentally, she was progressing as Hannibal anticipated. Where she had previously been mute, she initiated conversation and engaged Hannibal with direct eye contact, even if only for a brief exchange. He observed a change in her demeanour as well; she carried herself with more confidence as she became increasingly more familiar with her surroundings. Hannibal encouraged her to explore his home while he was away with patients, but she never ventured outside the living room. After breakfast each morning, before Hannibal left for work, she would choose a book from his extensive collection and sit in the corner of the sofa to read it. He usually returned to find her still reading, but one night he came home uncharacteristically early and found Ares doing a one-armed handstand on the banister of his staircase, her casted wrist held up to her hip, her legs spread to balance herself. 

Hannibal’s agitation exploded without warning.

“Ares!” He barked.

His voice boomed in the foyer. He slammed the door behind him. That combination of sounds bowled Ares off the banister. She swayed to an awkward angle but redirected herself to land softly on the pads of her feet. Her face blanched as Hannibal crossed the space towards her. She stumbled backwards into a wall, hanging canvases rattling above and beside her. Hannibal stood so close to her that she needed to turn her head lest have her nose collide with his chest. She squeezed her eyes closed and held her breath, every muscle in her body locking to brace for impact. 

Hannibal huffed an exhale out like a bull. He lowered his head until his chin pressed against the thick knot of his tie. He forced the volcano in his chest to erupt in reverse as he brought his hand up and cradled the back of Ares’s head. He forced her to face forward and angled her head up. He pressed a chaste kiss to her hairline. The muscles in her forehead relaxed under his lips as she opened her eyes slowly, bewildered and confused. He broke contact with her skin and drew in a sharp inhale between his teeth. He weaved his fingers into the knot of hair at the base of her skull and closed her thick locks in a loose fist. 

Ares pulled in a shallow breath when Hannibal’s nose bumped the top of her nose and dragged up her forehead. Another gentle kiss. Keeping her injured wrist close to her body, she moved her good hand up to the side of Hannibal’s neck. He didn’t flinch or react to her touch. She slid her fingers into his coiffed hair gently as if one falter could trigger an explosion. She held his hair the way he held hers.

Hannibal pursed his lips against her skin again, but the contact lasted only a second. Ares yanked his head back by his hair, her teeth gritting together audibly. She swung her casted wrist up and struck Hannibal in the side of the neck. 

He staggered sideways and dropped to his knee, winded and caught off guard by the ferocity behind her swing. In the two seconds it took him to recover and look up at Ares, she had pulled an antique jewelled dagger from its perch on his wall and lunged forward towards him. She pushed the blade against his pulsing jugular. A sardonic smile spread broad across Hannibal’s mouth. He leaned slightly into the blade, angling his head to expose more of his neck to her. 

Without a moment of hesitation, Ares dragged the old blade across his skin. Dull with age, it caused little damage. Hannibal reached up and seized her hand in a vice-tight grip, twisting and forcing her to drop the dagger as she crumbled to her knees before him. In a blink, Hannibal overpowered the slender gymnast. With her body between his legs, he pinned her biceps down under his knees and leaned his full weight on them.

Ares yelped out like a wounded animal. Her face flashed a deep red. The veins and tendons in her neck bulged deliciously as she thrashed under him. Hannibal touched the side of his neck and wet the pads of his fingers with the blood the small cut had produced. He held his hand in front of his face to inspect to carnage. 

“Ares,” Hannibal said, voice hoarse. “Look what you’ve done.”  
She turned away.   
Hannibal grabbed her face violently, his bloody fingers digging into the hot flesh to straighten her head. “Look at what you’ve done.”

Ares stilled her body between Hannibal’s legs. She fixed her eyes on the small gash she’d left on his neck. His pristine white collar was stained with blood, the blemish growing slowly like a flower coming to bloom. Her arms tingled painfully under his knees. With all his weight concentrated on her chest, she could only manage short bursts of breath at a time. Hannibal looked down at her. 

“I know what you are, Ares. We’re very alike.”

He released her cheek but let his fingers hover near her skin. He sensed the same frenetic urge in Ares that he held in himself. She opened her mouth. Hannibal pressed two bloody fingers to her tongue and smiled when she clamped her teeth down on them.


	13. Dulce Periculum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New boundaries between Ares and Hannibal are set and explored.

The heaviness of sleep pushed down hard on Hannibal’s eyelids when he reclined against his row of pillows. Residual adrenaline from his confrontation with Ares trickled through his nervous system with the warmth and pace of lava just before it hardened to rock. For a beat earlier, when Ares pressed the blade of his antique dagger to his neck and made a feeble attempt on his life, Hannibal felt his pulse liven. Pinning Ares down restored coronary equilibrium but made him aware of the wildfire he had sparked inside her. The flame he set ablaze was violent and all consuming and needed to be controlled and nurtured to keep it burning. Ares was explosive, she needed to be handled with tremendous care and attention.

Looking over at her in bed, at the curvature of her exposed back turned to him, he saw cold embers. The fire receded into her just as quickly and violently as it had burst out. Hannibal pulled the blanket up to her shoulders and allowed himself the pleasure of touching her with the back of her fingers. He felt her skin raise in the wake of his lingering contact and withdrew before he stirred her from her sleep, which had been surprisingly restful for the past hour. 

Hannibal sunk deeper into his pillows. He folded his arm behind his head and closed his eyes, conceding finally to the exhaustion he fought against. He was woken up short time later to Ares in the throws of a vivid nightmare. He spent the rest of the night containing her terror.

Over coffee the next morning, Ares sat mute opposite Hannibal, eyes down, hands clamped between her thighs. They mirrored each other in their dishevelled, tired appearances, neither of them showered or out of their pyjamas yet. Even the table between them, usually set with extravagant meals and flowers or artfully morbid arrangement, was barren today except for their white cups of coffee. Hannibal had no appointments. Ares still had a week left on her 14 day leave.

“Ares?”  
She raised her eyebrows to signify that she heard him.  
“Do you remember what we did last night?”  
“We?”  
“Yes, Ares, we.”  
“What did we do?”  
“Before or after you thought it wise to try and slit my throat?”

Something dark spilled behind Ares’s eyes when she glanced up at Hannibal. It was the first time she looked at him that morning, her head had been down since the moment he pulled her out of bed for coffee. She saw a pristine white gauze bandage taped to the side of his neck; it stood out stark and bright against the olive tone of his skin. 

“I did that to you?”  
“Yes you did.”  
“With what?”  
“With an antique that I had hanging on display as art in my foyer.”  
Silence.  
“Ares, do I need to reconsider my choices in art?”  
She shook her head. 

Hannibal set his cup down in its saucer. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He looked at Ares as if he were a King scrutinizing his latest tributes. Ares returned his gaze but only momentarily. 

“I’m going to ask you again, Ares,” he spoke again after several long minutes. “Do you remember what we did?”  
“No, Hannibal.”  
“I came home last night and I found you doing inversions on the banister.”  
“I know,” she winced noticeably. “I’m sorry I upset you so much. You forgave me last night.”  
“And then?”  
“We had dinner together.”  
“What did we do after dinner?”  
“Went upstairs to bed.”  
Hannibal angled his head. “What did we have for dinner?”  
“You made something Japanese.”  
Hannibal shook his head.  
“It wasn’t Japanese?”  
“No, Ares, we did not share a meal.”  
Ares opened her mouth to ask what they did instead but the words did not come.  
“I came home last night and I found you doing inversions on the banister,” he repeated. “I advised against the exertion because I feared you would injure yourself. You attacked me, Ares. You threatened my life.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“I didn’t hear that.”  
“I’m sorry,” Ares breathed. “I’m sorry, Hannibal.”  
“Ares.”  
Silence.  
“Ares, look at me.” 

She forced her eyes up. Hannibal coaxed her over with a tilt of his head. She stood up lamely and walked around the table. She pulled the chair out next to Hannibal but he was quick to seize her wrist and push back in his seat enough for her to know he didn’t want her beside him. Instead, she sat sideways in his lap, her toes unable to reach the floor with the added few inches of Hannibal’s thighs between her and the chair. He closed his arms around her waist and laced his fingers together to rest on her hip. Ares felt the heat of his body penetrate down to her bones. 

Hannibal rested his chin on her shoulder before he spoke. “I will always be able to protect myself, Ares.”  
She twisted her fingers in her lap. Hannibal’s breath burned like fire against her neck.  
“You are a priority in my life,” he continued. “I will keep you safe.”  
She nodded.  
“Ares.”

Hannibal lifted his chin as she turned to face him. He brought a hand up to her face to push her thick hair away from the side of her face. He pinched her earlobe playfully between the pad of his thumb and his index knuckle, tugging on it. Ares laughed at the unexpected gesture, her shoulder shooting up to fend his hand away. 

“Are you ticklish?”  
“No, but I wasn’t expecting that.”

Hannibal stroked the soft skin under her eye with his thumb. Ares leaned into his touch like a sunflower turning into the sun. She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the warmth of his palm as she fully relaxed into him. Hannibal moved his head forward to press his nose to her temple. Her scent this morning was harsh, like extinguished coals, but he revelled in it. He kissed the apple of her cheek. When she didn’t react, he kissed her again and let his lips linger against her skin until he felt the heat of a blush. 

“Hannibal.”  
He turned her face and their noses touched. “Yes, Ares?”  
“What is this?”  
“Do you want me to stop?”

Ares shook her head. She moved her arm to rest around his shoulders to let herself angle her body more comfortably. Hannibal cupped her cheeks in his mighty hands and kissed her hard, their lips burning with the friction of their combined hunger. Hannibal dropped his arm across her lap and, with one fluid movement, lifted Ares onto the edge of the table. Their coffee cups jumped in their saucers. Ares spread her knees to allow Hannibal space to come closer. She pulled him towards her by the sides of his pyjama shirt and kept the fabric balled up in tight fists as Hannibal lavished another ravenous kiss on her open mouth.


	14. More Ferarum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ares tends to Hannibal after he injures himself purposely in the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Hannibal ended a life. Corners and jagged edges of a fine porcelain cup rocked and spun on the polished floor like severed limbs after a voracious carnage. Finer dust specked the floor where the cup dropped and exploded. Ares was immobile on the dining table in the other room, glazed over, humming like an idle car. She didn’t hear the teacup shatter.

Hannibal looked down at the cup. Stepping back, he saw the outline of his two feet where the broken pieces had not reached. He played the impact in reverse in his mind like a projectionist reversing a reel of film. Over and over again, he made the cup gather together and shatter in different incarnations. A drop where only the handle breaks. A drop where the entire cup disintegrates as if it were made of sand. A drop where the cup bounced and danced but remained unbroken, strong, whole. 

Bending over, Hannibal gathered the bigger shards into his palm. He pressed the pads of his fingers to their edges to feel how potent the sharpness was. He drew blood from one corner after pushing too hard. He licked the small wound with the flat of his tongue and let the taste coat his entire mouth before he swallowed. He cleaned the mess and tossed the discards into the garbage. He swept up what remained. The vacant space belonging to the deceased teacup glared through the glass door of his cupboard. He made a mental note to buy another set later. 

In the dining room, Ares’s limbs regained sensation like flowers blossoming after premature frost. She sat up slowly and shivered audibly when a chill ran across her bare back. Blinking her vision into focus, she saw the tatters of her pyjamas in a messy pile on the floor; her shirt torn open at the seams, her pants split at the hips. Her skin felt hot where she remembered the pressure of each tug and tear. Turning her head to look around the dining room, she became hyperaware of how tender her neck felt. Running her fingers down her thrown, she felt perfect circles of raised, feverish flesh. Her eyes closed euphorically when she pushed down on the sensitive marks.

 

Ares felt the weight of a robe around her shoulders before she became aware of Hannibal’s presence in the room. He pulled the paisley dressing gown around her body and helped her slide her arms through the sleeves.

“I saw you shivering, Ares.” 

Hannibal focused his eyes on the sash around her waist. He knotted it elegantly and flattened the hem of the robe over her thighs. Ares pressed the heels of her hands down on Hannibal’s fingers. 

“Ares.”  
“Why is your finger bleeding?” 

Hannibal moved his finger and saw the fresh stain on the dark silk. He lifted his hand from her thigh. 

“What did you do to yourself, Hannibal?” She grabbed his wrist and turned his hand so that she could see his finger. She squeezed the injury until a pearl of blood swelled. “Dropping teacups again?”  
Hannibal nodded.  
“Tsk tsk tsk,” she kissed the back of her teeth as she held his hand in both of her own.   
“Tend to me, Ares.”

She moved to get off the table but Hannibal pinned her there, his able hand on her hip, his thighs pressing to her knees to force her to shuffle back where she sat. Ares hooked her ankles to the back of his knees and dug her heels into him, his legs buckling slightly forward. She matched his gaze without a smile. 

“Tend to me properly, Ares.”

Like a creature dazed in an obedient stupor, Ares took Hannibal’s finger gently into her mouth. She closed her lips around his middle knuckle and pushed his wounded appendage against her palette with her tongue. The metallic taste of his blood filled her mouth all at once and she replaced the soft grip of her lips with the pinch of her teeth. Hannibal’s brow rippled with a mixture of surprise and displeasure. His upper lip jerked and she caught a glimpse of his razor canines. She bit down harder until she felt Hannibal’s hand close around her throat. He had her pegged down on the table before she could react.


	15. Aegri Somnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ares experiences violent disassociations.

Ares awoke trembling and feverish from a nightmare. Residual flickers of teeth and ravaged flesh speckled her vision like orbs of light as she forced herself upright in bed. The absence of sunlight in the bedroom told her it was still the middle of the night without having to look at the clock that hung on the wall. Hannibal slept soundly beside her, on his back, with one arm over his head on his pillow and another resting on his chest. Ares moved away from him slowly as if one faulty step would spring a fatal trap. She stumbled through the darkness of the bedroom to the vanity, grabbed whatever clothes she could feel, and tip-toed out. 

In the foyer, she shed her pyjamas and, constantly mindful of her casted wrist, dressed herself in her workout gear. She shoved her feet into her shoes and sprinted out the door. 

Not having run consistently over the past two weeks left Ares breathless within a few minutes but she pressed on until her frantic gasps reached equilibrium. She ran across sleepy Baltimore until she was in her neighbourhood; the dilapidated community centre, her derelict apartment building, the tetanus ridden playground she used to train at just fourteen short days ago. She stopped on the yellow grass, silvery with overnight frost, and faced the waning moon. Sharp and grey, it reminded her of Hannibal the few times she had seen him smile. 

The image of his amusement was muddled in her brain, like an abstract painting behind translucent glass. For a moment, she wondered if he had ever actually smiled in front of her. Little scenarios revolved behind her eyes like pictures on a rolodex, each intimate but wildly unfamiliar. A sudden wave of nausea swelled in her stomach. The park tilted sideways and she found herself doubled over, hands bracing herself on her knees. 

Ares blinked hard. 

Upright again, she wiped her lips with the heel of her thumb. Her skin felt hot and wet against her mouth. The metallic sweetness of blood tingled the tip of her tongue. At her feet, beyond her stained hands, a lifeless body, exsanguinated and unrecognizable. 

Ares blinked again.

Sitting now, she recognized the interior of Dr. Frost’s office. Hannibal stood in front of her speaking with him. She watched their mouths moving. They sounded far away. Ares heard them as if listening from inside a glass bowl. The lights felt especially bright; blinding and hot. 

Ares closed her eyes hard.

“Ares, we’re here.”

Ares opened her eyes. They fluttered to adjust to the sunlight filtering into the car through the windshield.

“You’re going to be late.”  
She nodded and unbuckled her seatbelt.   
“I’ll be waiting here when you finish your classes. Have a good day today, Ares.”  
“I will.”

She opened the door and stepped out, rushing up the front steps of the community centre without looking back. Hannibal waited until she was inside before driving off to return to his office.

Hannibal pulled her patient journal from its place on his shelf. From the top drawer of his desk, he took out a small page of red stickers and placed one beside the blue sticker on the front cover and spine of the journal. Beneath the blue sticker on the cover, he stuck on a smaller red sticker. He opened the journal up and leafed through the pages. 

Despite not having continued their official sessions since inviting her to live with him in his home, he continued to observe her, to make notes on her behaviours and processes, her catatonia and her fits of violence. Some days they were just two people sharing a living space. Other days, Hannibal was Dr. Lecter and Ares was his patient. He asked her questions in casual conversation, pushed her to establish where her boundaries were that particular day. No matter the day, no matter the role, Hannibal kept detailed records.

Today, he wrote about her first murder. 

A jogger, 43 years old, six foot one. A convicted sex offender. He attacked her at the park and she disfigured him with her bare hands. She tore into his throat and ravaged his face to the bone. Hannibal found Ares while the body was still hot, thick steam rising from the carnage she’d created. He experienced a moment of disgust seeing her frantic and bloodied, sand and grass caked to her hands and knees. That disgust gave way to a deep sense of satisfaction. He coaxed her into his car and made quick work of gathering up the body to dispose of at his leisure later in the day. 

Stopping in at Dr. Frost’s office, Ares received an antiseptic bath and a new, clean cast. From there, back to Hannibal’s home to change her into a fresh set of clothes and then off to work for his fledgling successor. Hannibal smiled to himself as he capped his pen and rested it in the bend of the journal. 

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair to let the sensations of that morning wash over him; the smell of blood and sweat that overwhelmed him when he took Ares under his arm; the feeling of her wet body trembling against his side. He rested his hands against the tops of his thighs. He shifted in his seat as his erection pressed hard against his pants. Unaccustomed to such pressure, his body flashed with heat. He hooked a finger into his collar and undid the top button. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat with a hard swallow. He moved his hand to his pants and popped his fly open with ease and stroked himself through his boxers. His jaw went slack.

Hannibal greeted his private version of Ares behind his eyes in her small, square room. She wore white today and she smiled when she beckoned him closer. Hannibal approached her but she remained far away. He stepped towards her but the distance between them remained the same. She urged him closer. Her smile disappeared and she became nervous. Hannibal implored her to come towards him, but just as before, the divide between them remained. 

A knock rattled his office door. His fantasy vanished with a blink. The wetness of his completion in his hand startled him. 

“One moment, please,” Hannibal said reflexively. 

He shot up from his chair and into the bathroom to wipe himself clean and wash his hands with furious speed. Tucking his shirt back into his pants and zipping back up, he flattened his waistcoat down his front and examined himself in the mirror. He grabbed a small hand towel and dabbed the sweat that had gathered across his brow. He walked out of the bathroom, slipped into his jacket, and greeted his patient at the door.


	16. Sub Poena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ares and Hannibal quarrel.

Ares bolted out from the front doors of the community centre like someone had lit a fire under her. She jumped down the stairs three steps at a time, something that pushed Hannibal’s heart into his throat until she landed at his feet, upright and rosy cheeked. She smelled strongly of the stale, sanitized equipment from inside the community centre but Hannibal grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into a ferocious embrace. Ares didn’t react; her arms remained limp at her sides, his fingers curling into loose fists. Hannibal stooped down slightly to bury his face into the side of her neck. He smelled Ares, her true scent. The coals had caught flame again.

Hannibal let go and stepped back to open the passenger door for her.

“Get in, Ares. I’ve prepared dinner.”

She entered the car obediently, sitting in her seat with her hands crossed in her lap, her eyes fixed forward. Hannibal watched her for a second before leaning in and over her to fasten her seatbelt. He felt the heat of her breath on the sliver of his exposed neck between his jawline at the lapel of his coat. He closed his eyes and braced himself on the centre console. Ares moved closer and dragged her tongue across his flesh before biting down hard enough to make Hannibal react with a hiss. 

“Ares,” he growled.

He withdrew himself and shut her door. The short walk to the driver’s side allowed a moment to compose himself against the icy Baltimore air. The skin Ares had wet felt especially chilled against the wind. 

“What did you make for dinner, Dr. Lecter?”  
“Roasted Chateaubriand with Pan Jus,” he said. He fastened his seatbelt and switched the car into gear. “But I’m leaving my options open tonight.”  
Ares tilted her head sideways.   
“Do you like veal, Ares?”  
Silence.  
“Calves are slaughtered young for veal,” Hannibal said. He dropped his Bentley into first gear and blew down the street, the force of his acceleration pushing Ares back into her seat. “Their youth produces a succulent cut of meat. To eat them is to eat the life that was stolen from them.”  
“Hannibal, slow down.”  
“I may save the chateaubriand for tomorrow and make a veal rib crown roast this evening.”  
“Hannibal!”  
“Be quiet, Ares.”  
“Slow the fuck down, Hannibal!”  
“I said be quiet, Ares,” he barked.

From the shifter, Hannibal moved his hand to Ares’s thigh and squeezed her slender limb until she yelped and kicked her feet against the floor mat. She pressed her legs together and angled them away from Hannibal. He grabbed her arm just above the edge of her cast. The colour drained from her anxious face. She shook her head like a lamb facing its imminent termination. 

“Hannibal, please.”  
“What a beautiful job Dr. Frost did replacing your cast,” he purred. “He cleaned you up so nicely, Ares, you barely stirred.”   
“Please…Hannibal, please, I’m sorry, I’ll be quiet.” 

Hannibal moved his grip down to the plaster. He felt Ares shaking and enjoyed the tremor of her fear for a few seconds before slamming the cast down on the centre console. The plaster was powerless to survive the impact and shattered like porcelain. Dust clouded and gathered in their laps and all over the cream leather of the console. Ares shook wildly in the seat as if possessed by electricity. Hannibal tossed her hand into her lap and ripped around a corner, his tires squealing on the asphalt of the road. Ares slumped against the door, morbidly limp and and unconscious. Hannibal didn’t give her a second look for the rest of the drive.

At home, Hannibal walked in alone. He entered his kitchen without taking his coat off. He made two phone calls; one to his tailor to have his coat and suit pressed and one to the man he entrusted with the responsibility of detailing his car. 

Hannibal took his coat off and hung it in his closet. He returned to the kitchen and took dinner out of the oven. He tented the meat with foil after admiring the elegant creation he had put together earlier that day. He would not allow his row with Ares to spoil the meal.


	17. Sum Quod Eris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal begins assisting the FBI in their Chesapeake Ripper investigation.

Hannibal saw Ares as a liquid. She took on the shape of whatever contained her. Hannibal contained her now.

After tending to her wrist, Hannibal stood at the foot of the bed and watched as the terrors of her nightmares took hold of her dormant body. Beads of sweat rose from her flushed skin. Her quivering limbs spasmed violently. She thrashed beneath the sheets, breathless and screaming, crying and begging unintelligibly for relief and protection. Hannibal remained unfazed by her display for the hour it lasted. 

Lying diagonally across the bed tangled in the linens with pillows strewn around her, her chest rose and fell in rapid heaves for breath. Residual whimpers coloured her gasping. Hannibal turned to leave but stopped mid-step when he heard her call him by name. 

The syllables of his “Hannibal” came out in pieces like splinters being pulled from flesh. Ares sounded distressed. He turned in the doorway and watched her squirming around in bed. Her misery reached its peak with a sob so soft and gentle that it sent a ripple of chills down Hannibal’s spine. Whatever monstrous anguish consumed her before left her small and wounded now. Childish, defenceless. 

Hannibal saw Mischa in Ares’s place. Girlish and innocent with her tiny body curled up between two pillows burrowed underneath the blankets. She looked peaceful and content as she slept. Hannibal smiled and called to her.

“Mischa, mano mylimoji,” he cooed.   
“Asleep!”  
“Misch-Misch.” 

Her eyes fluttered. She sat up slowly and pushed hair out of her face with a clumsy hand. 

“Anniba,” she beamed.   
“Mischa.” 

Hannibal got down on one knee and beckoned his infant sister to him with his arms open wide. Misha scrambled out of bed and pitter-pattered across the floor into his expectant arms, but just as quickly as he felt her against his chest, she was gone. Hannibal opened his eyes. Alone, kneeling on the floor still, he looked around grasping onto the hope of seeing Mischa peeking out from behind a curtain, a door, a piece of furniture. His awareness slowly honed back in on Ares. Hannibal stood up.

She lay on her side, balled up, with her face shoved between pillows. Her shoulders trembled as she cried but she made little noise. Hannibal closed the bedroom door and went to lay down behind her. He moved close enough for his front to press tightly to her back. He curled his knees behind hers and draped his arm over her to still her shaky frame. His body dwarfed hers. 

Hannibal kissed the top of her head and stroked the length of her arm with his fingertips. He apologized for every cruelty he bestowed upon her that evening. He begged for her pardon between each chaste touch of his lips. Ares stilled after some time. Hannibal closed his eyes after a silent prayer to himself, for himself. 

The sunlight of the morning warmed Hannibal tenderly. He revelled in the heat before allowing himself to enter full, wakeful consciousness. The back of his neck and between his shoulders felt damp with sweat from having slept in his waistcoat. He realized that Ares had rolled over at some point in the night and nuzzled herself against him. He noticed that she had the end of his tie wrapped around her fist like a leash, the fabric pressed to her mouth, her forehead tight against his chest. 

“Ares,” he whispered. He brought his hand gently to her head to try and move her hair to see her face better. “Ares.”  
No response.  
“Wake up, Ares.”   
Silence.

Hannibal untangled their legs and parted from her easily. He opened her fingers and slid his tie out from her grip before getting out of bed. He noticed the impressions of the buttons of his shirt red on Ares’s forehead. He laughed inaudibly and brushed over the indents gingerly. He pulled the blankets up to her ears and went to draw the curtains to keep the light out of the room. Undressing in the bathroom, he made quick work of showering, shaving, and grooming himself.

Later that morning, he was due to meet with Special Agent Jack Crawford, who had sought him out just a few days prior at the recommendation of Dr. Alana Bloom. He would be meeting Will Graham for the first time, Agent Crawford’s broken pony.

“Tell me, Agent Crawford,” Hannibal leaned in close to a board of pictures pinned together with lines of red yarn and thumb tacks. “How many confessions?”  
“Twelve dozen last time I checked. None of them knew details. Until this morning. Then everyone knew details. Some genius in Duluth PD took a picture of Elise Nichols’s body with their phone and shared it with a few close friends. Freddie Lounds ran it on tattlecrime.com.”

Hannibal and Jack moved to Jack’s desk. Jack sat in his seat, Hannibal walked around to take the vacant spot beside Will Graham.

Will, quietly. “Tasteless.”  
“Do you have trouble with taste, Mr. Graham?”  
“My thoughts are often not tasty.”   
“Nor mine. No effective barriers.”  
“I make forts.”  
Hannibal nodded. “Associations come quickly.”  
“So do forts.”  
Hannibal tilted his head sideways. He followed Will’s gaze to the carpet before looking back at him. “Not fond of eye contact, are you, Mr. Graham?”  
“Eyes are distracting,” he shook his head as he shuffled papers in a folder on his lap. “You see too much. You don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking, those whites are really white, or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein? So I try to avoid eyes whenever possible.”  
Hannibal’s features changed slightly into a sardonic smile. “I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.”

Satisfaction washed over Hannibal as Will resisted squirming in his seat. With mild disgust and helplessness, he looked up at Jack, who looked between Will and Hannibal indifferently. 

Will shot his glare to Hannibal. “Whose profile are you working on?” He turned back to Jack. “Whose profile is he working on?”  
Hannibal adjusted his jacket and leaned back in his seat. “I’m sorry, Will. Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off.”  
Still looking at Jack, Will spoke again. “Please don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.” He shoved papers into his folder and closed it under his arm. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture on psychoanalyzing.”

He rose abruptly from his seat and left the room. Jack and Hannibal exchanged a knowing look.

“Maybe we shouldn’t poke him like that, Doctor. Maybe use a less direct approach.”  
“What he has is pure empathy. And projection. He can assume your point of view, or mine, and maybe some other points of view that scare him. It’s an uncomfortable gift, Jack. Perception’s a tool that’s pointed on both ends.”

Hannibal stood up and returned to the board of photos and cue cards. He examined the images, the faces, the words, the small details. Sliding his hands slowly into his pocket, he nodded.

“This cannibal you have him getting to know,” he paused, considered. “I think I can help good Will see his face.”


	18. In Inceptum Finis Est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ares cooks for Hannibal

Hannibal found Ares sitting at the head of his table wearing one of his black collared sweaters when he returned home. The neckband of the sweater made her seem regal. She looked as she did the first evening they met; rigid in her baring with her chin up and back straight. Hannibal could smell the lingering aroma of his soap and shampoo in the air and knew she had showered recently with hot water, nearly scalding. He detected no fire in her scent. Tonight, she was fully and wholly cool, like the ocean in winter. Hannibal paused in the threshold of the room to admire her.

“Hannibal.”  
He bowed his head. The corners of his mouth tugged skyward. “Ares, my dear.”  
“I’ve prepared dinner.”  
Hannibal smiled enough to bear his teeth. “What have you prepared?”  
Ares stood up and walked around her seat. She pulled it out. “Sit, Hannibal.”

Obediently, Hannibal crossed the room to his place at the top of the table. He put his hand over Ares’s on the chair and lowered his head to leave a chaste kiss on the apple of her feverish cheek.

“Which Ares do I have the pleasure of dining with this evening?”  
“Your Ares.”  
“Will my Ares greet me properly?”

Lifting her face to meet his, she nodded. She kissed the corner of his lips. Hannibal revelled in the warmth of her lips, a silent phrase of gratitude leaving him like a sigh.

“Sit, Hannibal.”

Hannibal sat. Ares tucked him into the table and opened a napkin across his lap. Hannibal watched her leave the room before turning his gaze to the table. Two spots had been set; the head and the spot to its right. Although the settings were not as elaborate as Hannibal was used to, he appreciated what Ares had done. He found pleasure in the fact that she had been paying attention to the nuances of his lifestyle. 

“I smell veal, Ares.”  
“Veal rib crown roast.”

Ares placed the roast down. The meat glistened with its succulent juices, its aroma filling the room quickly. Hannibal was impressed — it appeared perfectly cooked, seasoned, and was displayed in a way that Hannibal himself would’ve prepared, like a morbid crown. He smiled when Ares left to retrieve a knife and serving fork.

“Will you carve, Ares?”  
“I’ve been carving all day,” she nodded. “I would like to see this dish to its completion.”  
Hannibal raised his head in a wordless urge for her to continue.  
“I chose the calf,” she said, running the blade of the knife against the sharpener. “I slaughtered it. I butchered it.”  
“Hmm.”

Ares cut into the roast. Hannibal swallowed the saliva that had pooled beneath his tongue, his lips trembling with anticipation. He watched intently at how she handled the knife. Her hands moved with confidence, the same confidence she displayed when she made an attempt on his life. She placed two ribs on Hannibal’s plate and set the carving knife and serving fork down. He watched her move her chair directly beside him.

“I’ve learned that a chef feeding their guest a meal they have prepared for them is perceived to be a tremendous act of humility,” Ares said as she took up Hannibal’s fork and knife.   
Hannibal bore his teeth in a grin. “Do you feel humble tonight, Ares?”  
“Yes, Dr. Lecter.”

She skewered a piece of meat with the fork and applied a balance of garnishes with the knife like she’d seen Hannibal do so many times before. She held the bite up. Hannibal closed his mouth around the fork and dragged his teeth lightly against its prongs. The meat tasted as good as he hoped it would; his instruction in the kitchen hadn’t fallen on deaf ears. He chewed and swallowed and expressed his approval with a single nod. 

“Delicious, Ares.”  
She bowed her head.  
“What possessed you to make dinner tonight?”  
“I wanted to surprise you.”  
“I’m surprised. Pleasantly so.”  
“Good.”  
“Have you made dessert as well?”  
She nodded.  
“You kept yourself busy today, Ares.”  
Another nod.  
“And your wrist?”

She held up her arm and pulled the sleeve of the sweater she was wearing up past her elbow. Darkened bruises blemished the top of her hand and on her arm above the cast where Hannibal grabbed her. He felt no remorse knowing he had caused those marks. 

“My wrist is fine.”  
“What have you prepared for dessert?”  
“Flower glass.”  
“You’ve been reading into molecular gastronomy.”  
A confident nod. She fixed another forkful of roast for Hannibal, which he ate gladly. She continued. “I saw your notations by the recipe. I didn’t make the same mistakes you did.”  
Hannibal narrowed his eyes.  
“Your kuzu starch croquant lacked flavour. I replaced the water in the recipe with clear lychee juice.”  
“Did your flowers wilt, Ares?”  
She shook her head. “I compressed the flowers in cotton candy and compressed them to form an edible paper. The benefit of that technique was that it didn’t require heat. The flowers retained their colour and freshness.”  
“Hm.”

Ares’s stone features warmed over. She fed Hannibal another mouthful. He wrapped his fingers lightly around her hand and took the fork, setting it down on the edge of the plate. He brushed the pads of his fingers over her cheek. Ares leaned into his touch like a sunflower towards the sun. She put her hand over his and flattened his palm to her face. The gesture caught Hannibal off guard.

“Hannibal.”  
“Yes, Ares?”  
“What do you see?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“What do you see when you look at me?”  
“I see you.”  
“Who am I?”  
“Ares Gw—”  
“Who am I to you?”

Hannibal’s tongue ran along the edges of his teeth as he considered her question. Ares represented many things to him. First and foremost, his patient; a specimen intended for observation and critical analysis. His clinical mind viewed everything beyond his office as experimental treatment. His softer mind looked upon Ares with more tenderness. He saw a companion in her, a friend, a lover, a challenge. He also saw himself. Ares took his shape with more and more precision and clarity with each passing day. When he initially noticed this change, he interpreted it as blatant imitation, sardonic mimicry. But imitation bred inheritance and she adopted many of his traits, and though she lapsed violently between moods and personalities, Hannibal recognized them all. Her lapses were his lapses, but with less control. She was volatile like an unbalanced element. She was different people fighting for animation at once. Hannibal wanted to combine those personas into one coherent existence. 

“You are many things at once, dear Ares.”  
“What am I right now?”  
“You’re mine.”


	19. Mater Dei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal learns something about Ares that requires him to recalibrate his feelings towards her.

Ares quit her job at the community centre at Hannibal’s recommendation. With her moods becoming increasingly unstable, Hannibal didn’t see it fit for her to continue working. Though he was unable to spend time with her in his home due to his increasing obligations with Agent Crawford and Will Graham, he and Ares enjoyed what little time they did spend together, often over dinner, when Hannibal was not hosting company from the Bureau, and in bed each night. 

The more Hannibal worked, the more Ares began to withdraw from him and back into the creature he’d taken in several months earlier. That left him in a difficult position. He felt a responsibility towards Ares but knew he would be better served focusing his attention and intellect on the ongoing Chesapeake Ripper investigation. 

Tired of sleepless nights caused by Ares’s violent night terrors, Hannibal began administering powerful sedatives intravenously before bed. It took two nights for him to get the dosage right, but when he did, there was peace. Ares slept like the dead beside him, but come morning, she appeared all consumed. Mentally catatonic, she began displaying physical ticks — she trembled, her legs tapped, her fingers twitched. There was a disconnect between her body and her mind. The mirror image of himself that he had enjoyed so profoundly relapsed to an impenetrable object again. 

Hannibal did not let Ares’s regression faze him. Instead, he threw himself more into the investigation. With Will Graham, he had a new puppet to domineer. Will had some elements that reminded Hannibal of Ares, but he was very unlike her; a different breed of person. Hannibal took an immediate professional interest in him. 

Balancing Ares, his involvement with the FBI, and his own private practice became a spinning plate act. One of those plates shattered at his feet when he found himself ending two lives in the span of two minutes in his office after almost having his own life taken. Franklyn, a patient, was an unfortunate casualty; Tobias Budge was a necessary one. He returned home to Ares as a man in shambles.

Ares noticed Hannibal limping as soon as he entered the foyer but made no attempt to assist him. “You’re hurt.”  
“I would like to go to bed early tonight, Ares,” he told her as he hung his coat up. He removed his shoes slowly, cautious on his weaker leg.  
She nodded.  
“I would like for you to join me.”  
“I don’t want to.”  
Going from lamb to lion, Hannibal turned fully to her. “I beg your pardon?”  
“I don’t want to sleep beside you tonight.”  
“What do you wish to do instead?”  
“I want to leave.”  
Hannibal smiled a bloody smile. He raised an arm towards the door. “Please.”

Equidistant from the door, Ares evaluated her chances of survival. Despite his injury, Hannibal still posed a threat. Against better judgement, she bolted for the door. Hannibal met her halfway. Grabbing her by the throat, they shuffled across the foyer clumsily until Hannibal pinned her to the wall. 

“Hannibal,” she choked out a whimper. 

Hannibal pressed his body against hers, a growl of dominance rumbling in the back of his throat. Ares smelled the dried blood and sweat on him, a nauseating mixture. She tried to turn her face away, but his vice grip on her throat made it impossible. Hannibal dug his fingers into the side of her neck. He drew in a deep inhale of her scent. Today, its potency revolted him. By spoor alone, she was a stranger; wholly unfamiliar and foreign. He released her neck and grabbed her by the shoulders before she could collapse to the floor. 

“Ares,” he breathed. 

He pulled her into him, holding her limp frame tightly against him. He cradled the back of her head in his hand. Ares was no longer his successor; she was the incubator for his successor.  
The next day, with a blood test, Dr. Frost confirmed to Hannibal that Ares was in fact pregnant with his child. 

“She is barely two weeks along, Hannibal, the window for a simple and successful termination is very much open to the both of you.”  
Hannibal answered without considering. “No, Dr. Frost, that will not be necessary.”  
“I trust that you’re aware that the first twelve weeks of any pregnancy are the most delicate.”  
“Yes.”  
“That means no games, Hannibal.”  
“I understand.”  
“Will you be bringing her in for a physical examination? I have tomorrow morning free. I could change the dressing on your thigh as well.”  
“That won’t be necessary, only Ares will require your care tomorrow.”  
“It’s scheduled. Good evening, Hannibal.”  
“Goodbye.”


	20. In Salvo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ares is brought up to speed.

Ares had no reaction when Dr. Frost relayed the news that she was expecting a child. For the second time in his life, Hannibal’s heart ached with a paternal instinct so strong that it reverberated in his chest like a tribal drum. He held Ares’s hand in his lap, their fingers laced, his thumb brushing over her knuckles back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She nodded as Dr. Frost spoke but Hannibal couldn’t tell if she was listening or just acknowledging sounds.

“I will allow the two of you privacy to discuss things,” he said after a lengthy spiel. “Will ten minutes suffice?”  
“Five,” Hannibal responded.   
“Of course.” 

Dr. Frost bowed his head and gathered up Ares’s medical file. He tucked starchy papers into the ivory folder and tucked it beneath his arm as he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Hannibal turned slightly sideways in his seat. His and Ares’s knees bumped as he leaned his head towards hers, cradling her cheek with his free hand. He pressed his forehead to her temple, his nose grazing the apple of her cheek.

“Say something, Ares.”  
Silence. 

He caressed her jawline lightly as if a touch tender enough would coax a response from her. He kissed her cheek, her temple, the tip of her ear. 

“Do you want this?”

Ares lowered her head. She slanted towards Hannibal and buried her face against the side of his neck. Hannibal felt her eyelashes flutter against his skin, a sensation that tingled through him like earthquake tremors. He unwound their fingers to free his arms to hold her more comfortably. He waited for her muscles to loosen, one by one, the fibres melting free from the tension that had them so tight. 

“Do you want this?” Hannibal repeated.  
“I’m scared.”  
“You needn’t be.”  
“I am.”  
“What are you scared of?”  
“I don’t know who I am.”  
“I know who you are. Use me as your gauge,” he said softly.

He smoothed her hair off her shoulder to expose the side of her neck. He rested his palm there and moved his thumb gently along the underside of her jawline in a small dash, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

“I will not lead you astray, Ares. Do you trust me?”  
“I trust you.”

Though her words came out bubbling with emotion, Hannibal knew she meant them sincerely. He moved his hand from her neck to her cheek and kissed her temple until he silenced the screams he felt fighting against the inside of her ribcage. Dr. Frost re-entered the room several minutes later. Ares did not lift her face from the side of Hannibal’s neck, but Hannibal looked at the doctor and nodded. Dr. Frost smiled a polite, congratulatory smile and bowed his head before leaving the room.

“Breakfast is waiting at home, Ares.”  
“I feel tired.”  
“You can sleep for as long as you desire once you’ve had something to eat. You must be mindful of the life you’re carrying inside you now. No more skipping meals. I will see to it that you don’t.”

Ares only nodded. Hannibal moved away from her and stood up. When Ares didn’t follow, he lowered his hands down to her and helped her to her feet. He wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders and they left Dr. Frost’s office.


	21. Vivat Crescat Floreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Ares take the next step in their developing relationship.

Without sedatives at night, Ares began to experience her night terrors again, but he noticed a change in them. Instead of screaming and crying, she stayed mostly quiet, occasionally muttering out half sentences and fragmented words. The few articulations Hannibal made out at night were sentiments of protection. Ares no longer sought out safety in her nightmares, instead, she provided it. Knowing she was now responsible for a life outside of her own seemed to change her on a profound level. 

Hannibal, of course, continued to keep detailed journal entries about her. Occasionally reading back to track progress, he saw that, despite the violently drastic peaks and troughs she experienced, there was a clear line of improvement throughout the course of their relationship. 

Less manic nights meant better days for Ares. Within only a week, she became less distant in the morning. She was lucid, perceptive. Hannibal encouraged her to return to practice with her gymnastics by having equipment moved into a vacant room in the basement for her; a barre, a beam, and mats. Ares obliged his suggestion. 

Mentally, she flourished. Gymnastics for her, Hannibal noted, were as effective as medication. Instead of spending her days dozing in and out of consciousness in a borderline vegetative state, she was on her feet. On the days that Hannibal didn’t work, he spent hours sitting on the floor in her renovated playroom watching her do handstands and flips and contortions that made his blood pump. 

Ares’s continued improvements seemed doubly significant considering Hannibal spent the majority of his days with the FBI containing Will Graham’s increasing madness. He was experiencing hallucinations and disassociations more and more frequently, much to the chagrin of Jack Crawford. It put Hannibal in a difficult position; indulging Will and keeping a rabid Jack balanced proved a tremendous mental exertion.

On a Friday afternoon, after returning home from Ares’s 12 week scan, Hannibal proposed marriage. Ares sat opposite him at the table in the dining room engrossed in the ultrasound photos Dr. Frost gave her. She felt especially maternal now that she had something tangible of their child. With her belly still taut and flat, she felt detached from the pregnancy. The photos were the first tether bonding her to the unborn life. Hannibal took advantage of the distraction to leave to enter the kitchen. He returned a moment later and stood behind Ares for a moment, looking at the pictures from over her shoulder. He experienced his own affection towards their child, a warmth he thought himself incapable of feeling.

Ares looked up at Hannibal. “Do you want to see them?”  
“I can see them.”  
“Do you have to go somewhere, then?”  
He shook his head.  
“Why are you standing?”  
“Ares, I would like to ask you a question.”

Hannibal pulled out the seat beside Ares and lowered himself into it. Having him beside her at the dinner table seemed perverse — in the tumultuous six months they had lived together, they had never sat beside each other in the dining room. She turned sideways in her seat to face him properly. 

“Is something the matter?” Ares asked automatically.   
“No, my dear,” Hannibal took the ultrasound photos from her hands and set them down on the table. He balled her fists up and cupped his own hands around them securely. “We are parents now, Ares. We have a responsibility beyond ourselves.”  
Ares nodded.  
“My responsibilities to you have changed. They will continue to change.”

Ares nodded again, but slower and with slight hesitation. Hannibal saw the change in her expression and allowed himself a single syllable of amusement. He brought his hand up to her face and gave her chin an affectionate pinch. She smiled at the touch, shoulders lifting slightly as she shied away from his hand. Hannibal reached into his pocket and produced a small, circular black velvet box. 

“You have been my charge since the moment you first walked into my office. Now I would like for you to be my wife, Ares, will you do me the honour?”

Hannibal counted nine long seconds before the dumbfounded look on Ares’s face brightened into a small smile, which gave way to a full, broad grin. She nodded. Hannibal placed the velvet box in her hand, which she opened instantly. 

“Hannibal!” She turned the box around to show him that it was empty. 

Ares laughed breathlessly when she saw the mischievous look on Hannibal’s face. Her cheeks bloomed red as held his hand up, the engagement ring on the tip of his pinky. He removed it and took Ares’s left hand in his own to slide it onto her finger. He noticed the steadiness of her hand; a far cry from the trembling she suffered from for so long. 

The ring itself cost a small fortune. On an 18 karat gold band, a 2.5 carat circular diamond sat perfectly brilliant and gleaming in a solitaire setting. Hannibal had his personal jeweller design it to his specifications weeks ago, shortly after he found out about Ares’s pregnancy. Now, on her hand, it took on a new elegance. 

“Do you like it?” Hannibal asked, holding her hands to his lips, his words muffled against her knuckles.   
“It’s very beautiful, Hannibal.”  
He growled with contentment. “I have another question for you, Ares.”  
“You’re awfully inquisitive today, Dr. Lecter.”  
A smile rippled across his lips. “I’m having guests over for dinner.”  
“I know, Freddie Lounds, Abigail, and Mr. Graham.”  
“Yes, darling,” he held her hands on his knees. “I would like for you to be there tonight.”  
“What will I wear? You’ve forbade me from wearing my gymnastics clothes to dinner,” she teased.  
“We can get you a dress, Ares.”  
“I don’t want to wear a dress.”  
“What would you like to wear, then?”

Ares stood up and let go of Hannibal’s hands. Turning away from him, she wiggled her fingers against the small of her back. Hannibal held them as she lead him out of the dining room and upstairs to the bedroom to the master closet. She turned the light on and honed in on one of Hannibal’s suits; navy blue with a deep red windowpane pattern. She ran her hand down the length of the sleeve. 

“This is what I want to wear.”  
“Hmmm.”  
“I’ve decided, Hannibal.”  
Mock disapproval melted into a knowing smile. “Your wish is my command.”


	22. Mens Rea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ares meets Will Graham, Freddie Lounds, and Abigail Hobbs.

Having Hannibal’s suit taken in to fit Ares’s measurements within two hours was nothing short of a miracle. His couturier not only impressed him, but Ares as well, with his quick, fine work. Hannibal paid handsomely for the short-notice request despite not being charged extra for it, which the elderly Italian sarto appreciated. 

From the tailor, Hannibal and Ares returned home. Ares retired to the bedroom for a nap while Hannibal began dinner preparations, first dressing the table for the evening’s meal. He opted for a long, dark floral centrepiece, something elegant without being obstructive. To his left, two place settings were arranged, one for Freddie Lounds, one for Abigail Hobbs. To his right, two more for Ares and for Will. The symmetry of the table pleased Hannibal. 

Entering the kitchen, he worked tirelessly to prepare all their courses before slipping away upstairs to shower. He glanced at Ares sleeping soundly, atop the covers, curled up on her side with his tubular decorative pillow clutched to her body. He entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him so not to disturb Ares while he showered. He was in and out in fifteen minutes, exiting the bathroom with a towel hanging from his hips. Ares was still asleep.

He went to the closet and opened the light. He glanced down his long collection of suits and decided on something teal. He chose the appropriate shirt and tie and laid the outfit out on the foot of the bed. He sat close to Ares and took her hand in his lap. He admired her engagement ring, a fresh swell of pride pooling inside him. He stroked his thumb over her knuckles as he lifted her hand to his mouth. He kissed the blade of her hand before opening his mouth and baring his teeth. 

Before he could bite her soft flesh, Ares spoke. “Han-ni-bal.”  
Hannibal bit her anyways, closing his jaw tighter when she made an effort to pull her hand.  
“If your friends see bite marks on my hands, they’ll get the wrong idea about your appetites.”  
Hannibal opened his mouth to let her hand go. He rubbed over the pink indents. “I see you’re awake.”  
She nodded.  
“Did you sleep well?”  
Another nod.  
“Good,” he pat the top of her hand. “The guests will be arriving soon. Shower and get dressed, Ares.”  
“After you, good Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal moved his hand up and down the side of her arm before he stood up. He held his suit to his front and looked to Ares, who nodded her approval at the selection. He set it back down on the bed and undid the towel from his waist. Ares saw the whole length of Hannibal’s striking body; lean limbs and sturdy waist and streamlined muscle. Though they weren’t shy about their bodies around each other, Ares always felt taken aback to see what filled his impeccable clothes. Hannibal sensed her blush before it coloured her cheeks. He dressed himself slowly to allow Ares an extended view. 

Buttoning of his shirt, he turned to face his fiancée. Before he spoke, she got out of bed with slow grace of a lion waking from rest in the sun. 

“Call me when you’ve finished your shower, Ares.”  
“For what reason?” She strolled across the room and turned on the balls of her feet to lean against the doorjamb while facing Hannibal.  
“I’d like to help you get dressed.”  
“Yes, Doctor.”

Ares closed the bathroom door with her foot. Hannibal listened to the soft sound of her clothes hitting the tilted floor before she entered the shower. He tucked his shirt into his pants and completed the remainder of his dressing ritual in front of his full-length mirror. He looked ravishing.

He left the bedroom and returned downstairs. He checked his watch; precisely forty five minutes remained before dinner. He expected Will Graham within the next half hour. The neurotic empath made a habit of coming to his home before other guests, usually to drop off wine and slink away without staying. Tonight, however, he would be staying.

While Hannibal put the finishing touches on the appetizers, he heard Ares call for him. He wiped his hands on a clean dish cloth and trotted upstairs. 

Ares stood in front of the full-length mirror, stark naked and dewy from her hot shower, ready to be dressed. 

Hannibal grinned as he looked her up and down. “Ares, I’ve warned you against hot showers.”  
“No one slapped my wrist when I turned the dial.”  
“Something must be done about that.”

Hannibal retried a small towel from the bathroom to pat her fully dry before beginning to dress her. He knelt down at her feet, which put him at eye-level with her hips. She stepped into her panties, Hannibal pushing them up her thighs, his hands enjoying every inch of flesh they could touch. Pulling them up properly, he rested his hands on her hips and pulled her towards him. He touched his forehead to her taut stomach and enjoyed the heat that radiated from her, from the life inside her. She smelled saccharine and warm, a combination that Hannibal found to be a tremendous comfort now. He kissed her a dozen times before Ares plunged her hands into his hair to move his head back. 

“Stay on task,” she whispered.

He nodded almost apologetically. He held her trousers for her to step into and pulled them as he stood. He left them open at her waist. Ares saw his temples ripple as he clenched his teeth.

“Hannibal,” she rested her hands palm flat against the lapels of his jacket. “Undress.”

Hannibal all but tore his clothes off. Buttons from his waistcoat and shirt flung in every which direction and landed with little ticks on the hardwood floor as he pulled at the pieces in a desperate attempt to disrobe as quickly as he could manage. He danced out of his pants, kicking them off one foot and sending them flying into the mirror. He turned to Ares and grabbed her, picking her up and bringing her to the bed. He pulled her pants off with one quick tug and dropped them onto the floor. With his tie hanging loosely from his neck and his shirt half off, he mounted her. Bracing himself with one hand by her ear on the mattress, Hannibal reached between them and pushed her panties aside before thrusting himself into her.

Ares gasped, surprised at the force of him all at once. She pulled his tie off and threw it to the floor before he dropped his face to her neck. He kissed her ravenously but Ares pushed his face away. 

“You’ll leave marks,” she breathed. “No marks.”

Hannibal kissed her hard on the mouth. She wrapped one arm around his neck, the other free to explore his bicep and his shoulder. She arched her back to angle her hips against his as they fell into rhythm with each other. She raked her fingernails across his back, Hannibal hissing his approval. He orgasmed quickly, his body tensing for several seconds before the heat of his completion loosened his muscles again. He heaved out an exhale against Ares’s chest, kissing and licking at her supple skin. He felt her heart pounding against his lips and swallowed the excess of saliva that filled his mouth suddenly. The two of them indulged in each other’s touch before getting out of bed.

Their second attempt at dressing themselves was more successful than the first. After a brief, cleansing shower together, they readied themselves for the evening ahead. After Hannibal opted for a warm coloured suit to compliment Ares’s outfit, he helped her get ready. Once she was dressed, he sat her in front of the vanity and presented her with diamond earrings and a matching necklace. He put them on and bent over to see her better in the mirror.

“How beautiful you’ll look tonight, Ares,” he murmured against her temple.   
“Thank you, Hannibal.”  
He bowed his head and stood up straight as he combed his fingers through her hair. “I want everyone to see those earrings.”  
“I’ll wear my hair up, then.”  
“I will put it up for you,” he said, beginning to part her hair.  
“How do you know how to do a woman’s hair?”  
Hannibal laughed a low sound. “My mother. I watched her as a child. She took great pleasure braiding the hair of our nanny.”  
“Our?”  
“Mine and my sister’s,” he nodded. “Her name was Mischa.”  
Ares felt unexpectedly emotional over the tone of his voice.   
“That small photograph in the gold frame,” Hannibal continued, glancing at the frame on the vanity. “That is the only picture I have of her.”  
“I’m sorry, Hannibal,” she whispered, bringing her hand to her face to wipe a fat tear before it rolled down her cheek.   
Hannibal’s upper lip twitched. He swallowed hard and continued to braid Ares’s hair. “I’m sorry too.”

Silence fell thick between them like tar. Hannibal finished Ares’s hair and looked at his work in the mirror. A crown for his queen, he thought proudly, who, without makeup on, looked radiant. He rested his hands on her shoulders and kissed her tenderly on her temple. 

“Our guests will be here any minute, my darling.”

Ares touched Hannibal’s hands and nodded. She lifted her eyes to see her hair and gasped, startled by the artistry of his styling. He interpreted her small sound of surprise as gratitude and held his hand out for her to take. The two of them left the bedroom. The doorbell sounded as they descended the stairs.

Hannibal answered the door and gestured for Will to come inside. “Will,” he smiled.  
“Good evening, Dr. Lecter.”  
“Please, allow me to take your coat,” he said as Will shrugged the wool coat off. “I would like for you to meet my fiancée, Will.” 

Hannibal looked to Ares, who stood just a few steps behind him, as he went to the closet to put away Will’s jacket. Will adjusted his glasses and looked at Ares fully. He smiled as he crossed the space between them, hand outstretched. 

“It’s a pleasure…and congratulations, to both of you,” he said. “I’m…my name is Will Graham, I…”  
“We work together,” Hannibal interjected with a clap of his hands. “He is my patient and my partner.”  
Ares nodded. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”  
“I hope he hasn’t told you much.”  
“Only the most savoury details, Will.”  
“What name can I put to this face?” Will tightened his grip around her hand.  
“Ares.”  
He released her hand. “A lovely name.”

Ares nodded a thank you. Hannibal ushered them into the dining room and stood behind their seats. Will automatically left the seat directly to Hannibal’s right to Ares, who sat down beside Agent Graham. 

“I would’ve never imagined seeing the two of you at my table at the same time,” Hannibal mused aloud.   
“The old adage must be true,” Will said. “There’s a first time for everything.”  
Hannibal smiled. He took his place at the head of the table.  
“Can I ask how long you two have been engaged for?”   
Hannibal checked his watch with exaggerated theatricality. “Almost a full six hours.”  
Ares laughed softly; Will more audibly. “Where have you been hiding until tonight, Ares?”  
“In Hannibal’s dungeon,” Ares remarked. “He felt benevolent today. He freed me from one set of shackles and fastened me into another, smaller shackle.” She wiggled her ring finger.

Hannibal laughed. It was a distinct sound, clear amusement, that caught Will completely off guard. The stoic Hannibal he had come to know, in therapy and at work, needed to be reconciled with the smiling, affectionate Hannibal he saw before him now. Will found himself smiling too at her comment and at the reaction it elicited. Ares proved herself an exceptional conversationalist with Will while they waited for Abigail and Freddie to arrive. Hannibal recognized the improvement in her speech to be a result of all the reading she had been doing while she’d lived with him. The aptitude she had for her gymnastics carried into her mental abilities. She was a sponge. 

Freddie and Abigail arrived on time and, after a brief exchange of introductions and niceties, dinner began.

“I feel terrible, Miss Lounds. It never entered my head you might be a vegetarian. A lapse on my behalf,” Hannibal apologized as he brought out an alternative meal for her.  
“Or a subtle way to set the power dynamic for this little soiree. Research always delivers benefits,” she responded.   
Will spoke up. “And if it contradicts a good story, hell, just publish it anyway.”  
“Are you still angry because I called you insane? The libel laws are clear, Mr. Graham.”  
“Insinuation is such a grey area.”  
“Insane isn’t really black and white, is it? We’re all pathological in our own ways.”  
“You decide on the version of the truth that suits you and pursue it pathologically.”  
“Everybody decides their own versions of the truth. I’m here because I want to tell Abigail’s version of the truth.”  
“See that you do.”  
Abigail lifted her chin and looked down the table at Hannibal and then at Will. “I don’t have anything to hide.”  
“Everybody has something to hide,” Freddie said after swallowing a mouthful of salad. “But I’m not going to write about anything you don’t want me to.”  
Hannibal took a long sip of his wine before joining conversation. “You must understand our concerns, Miss Lounds. We care about Abigail. Our only thought is to protect her.  
Freddie shook her head. “She’s already exposed. Her silence until now has been taken as guilt. This book is about her innocence. I want Abigail to have a future.”  
“That’s what we all want,” Will said.  
“Then we aren’t so different after all, Mr. Graham.”  
“We all want what’s best for Abigail,” Hannibal nodded.  
Freddie has another bite from her salad, chewing and swallowing. “This is possible the finest salad I’ve ever eaten in my life. Shame to ruin it with all that meat.”


	23. Actus Reus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ares speaks affectionately about Hannibal for the first time in front of Will, Freddie, and Abigail after dinner.

Hannibal left his beloved with Will Graham and Freddie Lounds in the lion’s den while he and Abigail cleaned the dishes in the kitchen. He removed his jacket and unbuttoned his cufflinks to roll his sleeves up to his elbows before plunging his hands into the suds. 

“I will wash, Abigail.”  
“I’ll dry.”

Five sets of plates, glasses, and silverware passed through their small cleaning system in silence. Hannibal sensed Abigail’s increasing anxiety but decided against acknowledging it. Instead, he rinsed his hands and the soap in the sink and began to wipe the counter down while she polished the wine glasses. 

After a long time, Abigail spoke. “Will knows, doesn’t he.”  
“He knows that you killed Nicholas Boyle.”  
“What am I going to do?”  
“He will keep our secret.”  
“You don’t know that.”  
Hannibal spread the dishcloth he had wiped the counter down with and folded it up neatly. He rolled it into his fist. “He will keep it because otherwise, the one good thing in his life is tainted. He will lie to Jack Crawford about you just as he has lied to himself.”

Abigail’s body trembled. She swallowed uncomfortably as tears brimmed in her eyes. She put the glass she had in her hand upside-down with the others on a blue cloth and rested her hands on the edge of the counter. 

“You’re safe, Abigail. No one will know what you did, and no one will know the truth you’re trying to avoid. The one you cannot admit even to yourself.”

Hannibal moved close to Abigail beside the counter. Her foot tapped against the floor and he could tell she was holding back more than she could handle. He waited in patient silence for the dam to break.

“I helped him.”  
“I can’t hear you.”  
Exasperated and with tears bowling down her cheeks, she repeated, “I helped him…I knew what my father was. I knew what he did…I knew. I was the one who met with the girls, talked to them. Laughed and joked. Found out where they lived, where they were going, when they’d be alone. Girls who looked like me. They could have been my friends.”  
She looked up at Hannibal, whose sympathetic silence encouraged her to keep talking.  
“I couldn’t tell him no. I knew…I knew it was them or me.”

Hannibal angled his head slightly and opened his arms. Abigail leaned into him, broken and choking out quiet sobs. Hannibal closed his arms around her for a moment before stroking her hair and resting his cheek to the top of her head.

“I wondered when you’d tell me,” he said quietly.   
“How long have you—”  
“I always suspected.”  
“I’m a monster.”  
“No, Abigail, I know what monsters are. You’re a victim. Will Graham and I, we’re going to protect you.”  
“Thank you…thank you.”

Hannibal held Abigail until she felt strong enough to stand independent from him. She fixed her hair and wiped her eyes with a clean cloth Hannibal handed to her. She left the kitchen a moment later and returned to the table beside Freddie, who was going back and forth with Will about journalistic integrity and psychopathy. Will appeared flustered and fidgety, both with his glasses and with his hands, but Freddie was unrelenting.

Abigail looked down the table at Ares, who seemed completely detached from the conversation. She sat in her seat, posture perfect, with one hand in her lap and the other on the table, her fingers resting loosely around the stem of a wine glass filled with cranberry juice that she had been nursing through dinner. Ares had spoken little during dinner. She listened very intently but offered little unless directly acknowledged. Abigail was struck by how youthful Ares looked. She had big eyes that were bright brown, almost orange if the light caught them the right way. Hannibal and Ares both had the same type of mouth and faces with the same angular features; high cheekbones, hollow cheeks, a narrow nose. Whereas Hannibal appeared more threatening, Ares had a specific softness to her that was almost childlike. Abigail felt drawn to her.

Will Graham dropped his hands down suddenly on the table. The water glasses and dessert plates that remained jumped and pulled Abigail out of the small reverie she had lost herself in.

“I won’t have this conversation with you, Freddie,” Will scoffed, a hollow gesture that sounded more like a choke than a laugh.  
“Is it because you know I’m right, Mr. Graham?”  
“Absolutely not!”  
“Now, now,” Hannibal’s velvety voice entered the room before he did. 

He stood in the threshold in only his waistcoat, his sleeves still rolled up to his elbows. He wiped his hands on a folded cloth and continued to speak only after everyone shifted their eyes to him.

“I won’t have this bickering at my table.”  
“I think I should go, Dr. Lecter,” Will muttered. He grabbed his napkin off his lap and balled it up haphazardly before putting it on the table.   
Like a hawk diving for a kill, Hannibal went to Will and secured his hands firmly on his shoulders, keeping him in his seat. “Nonsense, good Will. The meal hasn’t ended.”

Will chewed on the prospect of staying. He rubbed his cheek with his fingers and adjusted his glasses for the hundredth time that night before nodding repeatedly.

“Good.” 

Hannibal pat Will’s shoulders with more force than necessary before he returned to his rightful place at the head of the table. He looked at Ares, the two of them sharing a private smile, before he reached for her hand under the table and held it against her knee. He expelled a satisfied exhale. 

“We still have plenty left to discuss.”  
“Where did you two meet?” Abigail asked. She directed the question at both Ares and Hannibal, but her eyes fixed on Ares.  
“A series of fortuitous events brought Ares and myself together,” Hannibal answered automatically.  
Ares nodded.  
“What events were those?”

Freddie’s lips formed a proud grin. She set her fork down against the side of her plate and looked towards the happy couple, Abigail’s sudden curiosity in their relationship sparking Freddie’s own interest.

“We met through a mutual friend,” Ares said. 

Abigail felt a small rush hearing Ares’s sandy voice. She spoke from the same cadence Hannibal spoke from; calm, even. They were perfectly matched.

“Dr. Frost. I injured myself at work. Hannibal was there at the same time I had my appointment.”  
Freddie looked at Ares with a cheshire grin. “Smart girl, going from doctor to doctor.”  
“Dr. Frost and I have a professional relationship,” Ares responded with mousetrap reflex. “I came to know Hannibal has Hannibal, not as Dr. Lecter.”  
Freddie withdrew slightly; Hannibal’s teeth flashed behind a smile. He hummed a sentiment of approval.  
“Did you like him right away?” Abigail pressed.  
“No,” Ares’s voice was short but her features softened into a smile disarming enough to make Hannibal nearly blush. “I hated him, actually.”  
“That’s quite a strong reaction to have to someone right after meeting them,” Freddie noted.  
“Hannibal is a nine on the richter scale,” Ares said. “He never registers anything lower.”  
“What tipped the scale?” Will inquired. He faced Ares but didn't meet her eyes.  
“The scale hasn’t tipped to give favour to any one emotion,” Ares answered. “It reached equilibrium.”  
“You still hate him?” Abigail asked.  
“Hannibal is an infuriating man,” Ares turned slowly to Hannibal, his eyes dark and threatening. She challenged him with a simpering look. “I’m an infuriating woman.”  
“And together you form an infuriating couple?” Freddie remarked.  
Neither Hannibal nor Ares laughed at the comment. “We have our differences the same way we have our similarities.”  
“Hmm,” Hannibal nodded. “We have a tremendous commonality now, we’re both expecting our first child.”

A blush flowered on Ares’s cheeks as Hannibal pulled her close to bestow a kiss on her warm cheek. Will’s mouth hung open as though someone had struck him without warning, Freddie mirroring his surprise. Abigail was giddy.


	24. Non Compos Mentis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will discuss Will's mental troubles.

“I feel my nerves clicking like roller coaster cogs pulling up to the inevitable long plunge.”

Will Graham spoke slowly, each syllable chosen specifically to get his message across as concisely as possible. Hannibal sat across from him, comfortable in his seat, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap. Will sat more rigidly, half reclined in his seat, his hands flat on his thighs.

“Quick sounds. Quickly ended.”  “Abigail ended Nicholas Boyle like a burst balloon. She took a life.”  
Hannibal nodded. “You’ve taken a life.”  “So have you.”  
“You’re grieving, Will. Not for the life you have taken, but for the life that was taken from you. If Abigail could have started over, left the horror of her father behind, so could’ve you. You could untangle yourself from the madness and the murder, clear your mind.”  “My mind has never been clear.”   
“And now you fear it never will.”  
Will scowled slightly. “We lied for her.”  “We both know the unreality of taking a life, of people who die when we have no other choice. We know in those moments they’re not flesh, but light and air and color.”   
“Isn’t that what it is to be alive?”  
“Do you feel alive, Will?”  
“I feel like I’m fading.”  
“Have you experienced any further loss of time? Hallucinations?”

Will sat unresponsive for several seconds before nodding slowly, shamefully. Hannibal nodded more confidently and reached over to pick a small journal up from the end table beside his chair. He opened to an empty page and stood up.

“I’d like you to draw a clock face. Numbered. Large hand indicating the hour, small hand the minute.”  
“Why?”  
“An exercise. Nothing more. I want you to remember a present moment. The now. Often as you can, think of where you are and when.”  
“This feels like you’re tying mittens to my coat sleeves.”  
“Will,” Hannibal extended the journal to him. “Indulge me.”

Will turned the journal around and balanced it on his knees. He quickly drew a circle after glancing at his wristwatch to find out the time. 7:15 pm. He scrawled arms and numbers on the clock.

“Think of the time. Think of where you are. Think of who you are.”   
“It’s 7:15 pm, I’m in Baltimore, Maryland. My name is Will Graham.”  
“A simple reminder. A handle to reality for you to hold onto,” Hannibal said as Will handed the notebook back to him. He examined the deformed clock. “And know you are alive.”

He removed the pen from the crease and closed the notebook. He placed it down on his desk and returned to his spot across from Will, who seemed moderately pleased with himself for having, in his mind, successfully completed the menial task.

The next time Will found himself in Hannibal’s office, he was less pleased and more flustered, almost hysterical. He paced, moving from one end of the room to the other in long strides as he gesticulated wildly.

“I still have the coppery smell of blood on my hands. I can’t remember seeing her dead body before I saw myself killing her.”  
“Those memories sank out of sight, yet you’re aware of their absence.”  
“They left a slick on the surface of my mind where they’re supposed to be.”   
“Where you hope they’re supposed to be, but fear they never were.”  
“There’s a grandiosity in the violence I imagined that feels more real than what I know is true.”  
“What do you know to be true?”  
“I know I didn’t kill her. Couldn’t have. But I remember cutting into her. I remember watching her die.”  
“You must overcome these delusions that are disguising your reality. What savage delusions does this killer have?”   
“It wasn’t savage. It was lonely…desperate…sad.”  
“Are you lonely, Will?   
“I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked through me, past me. Like I was a stranger.”  
“You have to honestly confront your limitations with what you do and how it affects you.”  
“If by limitations you mean the difference between sanity and insanity…I don’t accept that.”  
“What do you accept?”  
“I know what kind of crazy I am and this is not that kind of crazy. This could be seizures. This could be a tumour. A blood clot.”   
“I can recommend a neurologist. But if it isn’t physiological, Will, then you have to accept what you’re struggling with is mental illness.”


	25. Nosce Te Ipsum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ares meets Dr. Frederick Chilton.

“Hannibal.”

Hannibal raised his eyes from the coconut on his cutting board to meet Ares, who stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Ares.”  
“I didn’t hear you come home.”  
Hannibal wiped his hands clean after setting his knife down. “Come to me, Ares.”  
“There’s a third place setting at the table tonight,” she said as she made her way over to Hannibal.  
“Dr. Frederick Chilton will be joining us for dinner.”

Hannibal pulled Ares to him by her hips and kissed both her cheeks before he kissed her lips. Sliding one arm around her shoulders, he tucked his other hand beneath her shirt and pressed it flat against the small curve of her belly.

“How is she?”  
“He is fine.”  
Hannibal offered up a challenging smile. “Ares.”  
“You’re adamant it’s a girl.”  
“Just as you’re adamant that it’s a boy.”  
“A mother just knows,” she ran the back of her index finger down the length of his cheek.  
“A father has intuitions as well, Ares,” he reminded her with a gentle kiss to the corner of her lips.  
“Five more months and we’ll know.”  
“That I’m right.”  
“Hannibal,” Ares laughed quietly, shaking her head. “I should go change if we’re expecting Dr. Chilton.”  
“You needn’t,” Hannibal responded. 

She was wearing her silk crepe de chine pyjama with Hannibal’s dressing gown over it. She looked like a queen at rest in the outfit, Hannibal didn’t want her to change. He wanted Frederick to see her like this; sleepy and beautiful, radiant without effort. 

“These are my pyjamas, Hannibal.”  
“You look beautiful, Ares. Don’t change.”  
A coy smile played on her lips. She nodded. “If you insist.”  
“I do,” Hannibal caressed her stomach for a moment before removing his his hand from her shirt. “How was your day today, Ares?”  
“Fine, lazy,” she answered. “I went back to bed after you left for two more hours. When I woke up, I had some fruit, trained downstairs.”  
Hannibal huffed out a little growl of disapproval.  
“I’m perfectly capable of training without you sitting in the corner watching over me, Hannibal.”  
“I prefer it that way. What if you fall?”  
“I can catch myself.”  
Hannibal sighed. He kissed her temple. “I know.”  
“Go back to what you were doing,” Ares moved away from him. “I’ll stay out of trouble.”

She left the kitchen like a gust of wind. Hannibal basked in the warmth of her wake before returning to his cooking duties to prepare dinner. Dr. Chilton arrived precisely on time and was greeted at the door by Ares while Hannibal continued preparing their meal.

“Ah,” Frederick let out a little chirp when he saw Ares. “My, you must be the Mrs. Lecter I’ve been hearing whispers about.”  
“Not quite,” Ares stepped aside and gesture for him to come inside. “Please.”  
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Frederick bowed his head as he stepped into the foyer. He slid out of his jacket and handed it to Ares. “My name is Dr. Frederick Chilton.”  
“I know,” she smiled, tucking his jacket away in the closet. “Hannibal has told me all about you.”  
“I pray he’s divulged only the most favourable things.”  
“Hannibal has a habit of sharing only the most savoury details about his colleagues.”  
“You’ve proven yourself time and time again to be appetizing company, Frederick.”

Hannibal entered the foyer adjusting the buttons of his jacket, which he had clearly just slipped back into. He extended his hand to Dr. Chilton and shook it like two brothers greeting each other after a brief absence from one another. 

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Hannibal,” Frederick said with audible eagerness. “But your fiancée is absolutely ravishing. Quite the tonic for tired eyes.”  
A fierce pride rippled across Hannibal’s mouth. “Yes she is.”  
Frederick offered his hand to her. “It’s very nice to meet you.”  
“Ares,” she shook his hand.  
He brought her hand to his mouth to lavish a kiss to her knuckles. “An absolute pleasure.”

Hannibal’s gaze nearly burned a hole in Frederick’s hand. Ares sensed his silent displeasure and plucked her hand playfully from his grip. Frederick chuckled agreeably. 

“Shall we?” 

Hannibal took Ares under a heavy arm and left the foyer to enter the dining room. Frederick and Ares sat down at the table across from each other; tonight, Dr. Chilton had the distinct honour of sitting to Hannibal’s right. They all shared appetizers and pleasant conversation before Hannibal and Frederick really dove headfirst into the unpleasant situation Dr. Chilton faced in his practice.

“Dr. Gideon is a psychopath. Psychopaths are narcissists. They rarely doubt who they are.”  “I tried to appeal to his narcissism.”  “By convincing him he was the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Frederick’s face twisted into a scowl reserved only for children being denied toys and candies. He slumped sideways momentarily before slipping back into his facade of professionally dignity.    
“If only I had been more curious about the common mind,” he lamented.  
“I have no interest in understanding sheep. Only eating them,” Hannibal entered the dining room with their main dish. “Kudal. A South Indian curry. Made from sheep, of course. In a coconut-coriander-chili sauce.”  
“Feels like a last supper,” he looked directly at Ares. “At least if it turns out to be, I’ll have had it in exceptional company.”  
“You’re not the only psychiatrist a patient has accused of making them kill. Poke around a psychopath’s mind, bound to get poked back.”  
“What would you do in my position?”  
“Deny everything.”  
“I thought psychic driving would have been more effective in breaking down his personality.”  
“Psychic driving fails because its methods are too obvious.”  
“Sensory deprivation. Psychic disorientation. Curare.”  
“You were trying too hard, Fredrick. If force is used, the subject will only surrender temporarily. Once a patient is exposed to the method of the manipulation, it becomes much less effective.”  “When Dr. Gideon began to suspect he was being pushed…”  
“He pushed back. The subject mustn’t be aware of any influence. The only motivation one needs is loneliness or mild depression.”

Frederick heaved out a dramatic sigh. He reached for the wine decanter and replenished his glass with a generous pour. He offered the wine to Ares.

“I’m unable to,” she declined politely.  
“My God,” he said theatrically. “Sitting through this conversation sober ought to win you an award. Hannibal, I hope you reward this woman handsomely for her bravery.”  
“Her sobriety is out of necessity.”  
“Necessary for what?”  
“For the health of our child, Frederick.”  
Dr. Chilton’s eyes widened to the size of saucers as he looked at Ares. “You’re pregnant?”  
“Yes.”  
“My sincerest congratulations,” he gushed, holding his glass up for a toast.  
“My sincerest thanks,” Ares smiled as she and Hannibal clinked glasses with Frederick.  
“When are you due, if I may ask? I’d like to know when to begin showering the Lecter heir.”  
“July.”  
“Where is that tiny child hiding?” He guffawed. “I didn’t notice a thing!”  
“He’s in there,” she nodded assuredly, feeling the small bump over her shirt.  
“She,” Hannibal glanced playfully in Ares’s direction.  
“Hannibal is convinced I’m carrying a daughter,” Ares said to Frederick.  
“Hannibal has a sixth sense about these things,” Frederick hummed, swirling his wine around his glass before indulging in a luxurious drink. “He may be right. Or he may have just been peeking extra closely at the ultrasound monitor. He is a doctor, after all.”  
Hannibal lifted his hands. “I plead innocent.”  
“Son or daughter,” Frederick grinned. “Only four months left until you meet them.”  
“Not long at all,” Ares nodded.  
“And what about wedding bells,” Frederick gestured to Ares’s left hand. “That thing has been blinding me all night.”  
“We haven’t discussed a wedding,” Hannibal pursed his lips. “But we both favour something discrete. No fanfare.”  
“Hannibal Lecter opting for the discrete? My good man, I can’t imagine the two of you popping down to the courthouse for a quick ceremony.”  
“Frederick, perhaps you’d enjoy acting as one of our witnesses.”  
A broad grin spread across the psychiatrist’s face. “I’d be honoured.”


	26. Cura Personalis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friction between Hannibal and Ares leads to an inevitable explosion.

As Ares’s pregnancy progressed, her comfort in bed decreased. Her basketball sized belly made sleeping on her front impossible; sleep on her back was no longer an option either. Forced to lay on her side, Ares took longer to fall asleep, which meant Hannibal’s soft snores filled the silent air in the bedroom before her own did. Most nights, when sleep refused to come to Ares, she would watch Hannibal at rest. Always sleep after her at night and awake before her in the mornings, Ares never saw Hannibal in a dormant state before. Now she enjoyed the private pleasure of seeing him at his most vulnerable.

Their nights started with Hannibal curled up behind Ares with his face nuzzled against the nape of her neck and his arm draped over her so that he could rest his hand on her belly, which was something Hannibal did obsessively. If she was within arm’s reach, Hannibal needed to be touching her. At first Ares thought it was just a matter of his paternal instincts coming into play, but after a while, she saw the behaviour as more of a compulsion. Some days he would caress her belly with boyish, vibrant delight that bordered on giddiness, especially when he felt the baby move and kick. Other days, Hannibal seemed deeply perturbed. 

Ares allowed Hannibal his troubled days for as long as she could tolerate them. She asked outright what was on his mind; Hannibal dodged the question with the same finesse he used in his daily life. Ares indulged his avoidance for a short while and asked again. Hannibal redirected the attention but Ares remained adamant. Those days were hardest; they fought like two vicious animals, Ares as the unstoppable force, Hannibal as the immovable object. 

After an especially violent outburst, one that left thousands of dollars worth of ceramic and crystal finery shattered throughout the house, Hannibal and Ares both found themselves in Dr. Frost’s office in the middle of the night being tended to like feral children. In separate rooms on opposite ends of the building, they received care.

Hannibal, at the insistence of Dr. Frost after determining he had suffered a mild concussion, participated in the standard cognitive assessments by a small group of nurses. Though annoyed, he remained calm and courteous, answered all the questions, and took all the instruction he was given. Ares, on the other hand, was receiving more extensive testing. She was hooked up to all sorts of heart and blood pressure monitors and given an IV with a sedative and a cocktail of medication to stabilize her cortisol levels, which were wildly elevated. 

Dr. Frost visited Hannibal’s room first. 

“You’ve made a fine mess of each other tonight, Hannibal.”  
“I suffered a lapse in control,” Hannibal responded simply. “We both did.”  
“Ares is nearly seven months pregnant. She physically cannot handle any lapses in control. She gets excited quickly, she can’t cope with the stress of confrontation.”  
Hannibal chewed the inside of his bottom lip.   
“The two of you will be staying here for the remainder of the night. I may keep Ares longer for observation.”  
“May I see her?”  
“No, Hannibal. I’ll be sending a nurse in to supervise you.”  
“I do not need supervision.”  
“You need to be kept awake for the next eight hours. I am legally required to have you under constant supervision.”   
“I want to see Ares.”  
“No, Hannibal. My answer is final, don’t ask again.”  
“Theodore,” Hannibal growled. “I’m not asking.”

Dr. Frost looked at Hannibal with his veneer of professionalism wearing thing. Hannibal waited expectantly for several seconds before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and rising to his feet. His pulse thundered behind his eyes and in his ears as his vision narrowed and speckled. He focused out of the dizziness and remained perfectly erect. He took up his jacket and waistcoat from his bedside chair and hung them over his arm.

“Thank you, Dr. Frost.”

Hannibal excused himself with a boy of his head and left the room. The white lights in the hallway burned his eyes and he narrowed them instantly, nearly recoiling against a wall. His pulse thrummed in his skull again as he navigated the long corridor from one end of the hospital to the other where Ares was being held. Her room was at the end of the hallway on the right, the final door. He peered in through the glass. The room was dark, the only light came from the hallway and from the dimmed screen of a heart rate monitor at her bedside. 

Hannibal pushed down on the door handle but it resisted; someone had locked it. His lip jerked. He looked down the length of the hallway before pulling a pin from his watch. Unlocking the door took only a few seconds. He tucked the pin away and let himself into the room. He closed the door silently behind him and went to Ares’s bedside. He hung his jacket and waist coat over the back of the chair and looked Ares over. 

She lay on her side, one arm folded under her pillow, the other resting on her hip to avoid disturbing the finger monitor or the IV taped to the top of her hand. With her hair up in a bun at the crown of her skull, the cluster of four crescent moon shaped cuts were in plain sight on the side of her neck. Hannibal balled his fists at his sides until the fingernails that caused those cuts dug into his palms. He noticed Ares had taken off whatever dressing the nurses had used to cover the cuts, three stripes of gauze sat discarded on the bedside table. Hannibal brushed the bandages off the table and into a small, empty trash can. Something heavy enough to make a noise dropped into the garbage. 

Hannibal pushed aside the gauze and saw Ares’s engagement ring. He pulled it out and carried it in the palm of his hand to the medical sink in the corner of the room. He washed the ring first and set it down on the counter. He rolled up his sleeves and took his watch off before washing his hands and halfway up his forearms with burning water and disinfectant soap. For a moment he felt like he was scrubbing up for surgery. The smell of pulsing blood and iodine clouded his thoughts. He looked down at his hands and saw blood streaming from the tap. Muffled cries echoed from the drain. Hannibal staggered backwards and blinked hard. 

Soapy water dripped from his hands and onto the tops of his leather shoes. He rinsed his hands and turned the water off before he dried his hands on the rough, brown paper towel from the dispenser. He shook the engagement ring dry and dropped it into the breast pocket of his shirt. He looked to Ares; still on her side, still asleep. He sat on the edge of the bedside chair and watched her sleep. He had never seen her so still before. She looked at peace, her features soft and free of tension.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the edge of the starchy bed. He pulled the light sheet down her body slowly and moved his hand beneath her gown to rest on the side of her round belly beneath the strap of the fetal heart monitor. The baby kicked against his palm with surprising force. Hannibal smiled as a purr of satisfaction rumbled in the back of his throat.


	27. Semper Paratus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail spends a day with Ares.

“I was expecting Dr. Lecter when I saw the car pull up.”  
“Are you disappointed that I’m not him?”  
“No, the opposite actually.” 

Abigail went over to Ares and hugged her unexpectedly, pressing her face into the side of her neck, standing on her toes to do so. Despite having only met each other only once previously, Abigail felt a strong affinity towards Ares. Abigail hugged her with the tightness of a child seeking comfort and protection from their guardian. Ares smelled and felt warm and comforting, like freshly laundered clothes and the amber wood she recognized from Hannibal’s office. Her scent was a welcomed change from the sterile air inside Port Haven. Ares rubbed big, slow circles on Abigail’s back. The two women embraced until Abigail withdrew abruptly. 

“Woah,” she flattened her hands over her own stomach. “That felt weird.”  
Ares laughed softly as she cradled her belly. “He’s been moving like crazy today.”  
“Does it hurt you when he does?”  
“Sometimes,” she nodded. “I’ve learned that an internal kick to the ribs is a very unpleasant sensation.”  
“Can…can I?” 

Ares took Abigail’s hands and placed them down on her stomach where she had just felt movement. Abigail felt nothing for several seconds before the baby tapped lightly. Abigail laughed out of amazement and slight horror. She withdrew her hands, shaking them like she had just been electrocuted. 

“Ready to go?”   
“Go?”  
“Yes, Abigail. You’re mine today.”  
“Really?”

Ares nodded. Abigail went over to her dresser. She pulled open the top drawer and retrieved a top and a fresh pair of pants. She excused herself and went into the bathroom to change, emerging a few minutes later freshened up and ready to leave.

“Where are we going?” Abigail asked.   
“Wherever you’d like to go today, Abigail.”

Abigail considered. She had grown so accustomed to leaving the facility to either go to the bureau with Jack Crawford and Alana Bloom, to Hannibal’s home, to the forest, or back to her own home, the latter two places she hadn’t been to in weeks. She looked down at her hands and twisted her fingers thoughtfully.

“What do you do during the day?” Abigail looked up at Ares.  
“Lately I’ve been sleeping whenever and wherever I can,” she responded with a grin. 

Abigail interpreted her answer in the precise way Ares intended for her too — pregnancy was not conducive to a restful sleep at night — and they shared a laugh. If Ares was experiencing restlessness or sleep deprivation, it didn’t show. Looking at her now, with only a small foot of space between them instead of a vast and ornate table, Abigail couldn’t help but feel moonstruck by her. She was beautiful in a quiet, disarming way. Abigail realized she had been looking at Ares without speaking and quickly opened her mouth.

“What about when you’re not sleeping?” She sputtered.  
“I’m walking around wishing I was sleeping,” she teased.   
Abigail allowed herself to laugh freely at the comment.   
“I used to spend hours at a time practicing gymnastics,” Ares said as they left Abigail’s room. They walked in step with each other down the hall. “Hannibal built me my own personal gymnasium at home.”  
“He can build?”  
Ares almost laughed. “Let me rephrase that, Hannibal made a phone call and had someone else more qualified build me my own personal gymnasium at home.”  
Abigail tittered with amusement. “Are you a gymnast?”  
She nodded.  
“Is that how you injured yourself and met Dr. Lecter?”  
Another nod.  
“How long have you been a gymnast for?”  
“Since I could walk.”  
“Did you like it? Or did your parents force you to do it?”  
“I enjoyed it,” Ares said. “It was everything to me. It still is.”

Ares and Abigail stepped into the elevator at the end of the hallway. They stood with the sides of their arms touching. The ride down to the main level was brief and they excited the elevator still side by side. Abigail felt the same nervousness pooling in her chest that she felt standing in the kitchen with Hannibal drying dishes after dinner. 

“Abigail,” Ares said when they were outside of the facility. “I want you to know something.”  
Abigail felt mortified. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Ares.  
“Hannibal has told me nothing about you. I know what you shared during dinner when we were together and that is the extent of my knowledge.”

Ares unlocked the car doors with the sensor on the key and they got in. The interior of the Bentley smelled overwhelmingly like Dr. Lecter; his aftershave, his dry-cleaning, the lingering fragrance of his office. Abigail glanced over at Ares in the driver’s seat, whose focus was on starting the car and turning on the air conditioning.

“I didn’t pick you up today with any hidden agendas,” Ares looked at Abigail, who nodded to acknowledge the implication. “I like you, I feel a fondness for you. We didn’t speak as much as I would’ve liked when you came to our home for dinner.”  
“You were so far away.”  
“But we’re closer today,” Ares’s lips curled into a most irresistible smile. 

Abigail flushed. Ares turned her gaze forward. She shifted the car into gear and they were on their way off the facility grounds.

“Have you eaten today?”  
“Just a small breakfast a few hours ago.”  
“You must be hungry, then.”  
Abigail became hyperaware of how hollow her stomach felt and nodded.  
“Do you have any favourite restaurants?”  
“I’d prefer something home cooked, actually.”  
Ares smiled. “Of course.”  
“Is Dr. Lecter home?”  
“He’s at his practice today.”  
Abigail nodded.  
“Do you have any allergies, Abigail?”  
“None.”  
“Good,” she said. “We’ll have peanut soba spring rolls for lunch.”  
“That sounds delicious.”  
“It will be,” Ares told her. 

Arriving at the Lecter home, Abigail noticed how different the atmosphere of the house was without Dr. Lecter there. The interior looked brighter; all the curtains were drawn to let sunlight pour in from every window. Ares was a gracious host, like Dr. Lecter, but in contrast with his clinical approach, she was very familial. Abigail felt more at ease alone with Ares than she ever felt with Dr. Lecter. 

The two women went directly into the kitchen. Abigail offered to help prepare their spring rolls, but Ares was insistent that Abigail just relax and enjoy being doted on. Abigail pulled up a stool to sit in front of the long island to watch Ares julienne two bell peppers.

“You cut just like Dr. Lecter does,” Abigail observed with a small laugh. “You even do the little tap thing on the corner of the cutting board.” She gestured tapping a knife tip on the corner of the thick cutting board.  
“Hannibal’s rituals have become my rituals,” she nodded. “He taught me how to handle knives, how to cook, how to butcher meat. I was a babe in the woods in the kitchen when we began to see each other.”  
“Is he a patient teacher?”  
“When I’m a patient student, yes.”  
Abigail half-smiled. “Are you temperamental?”  
“To a fault.” 

Ares placed her knife down and went to the cupboard to get out a rectangular dish. She set it down beside the cutting board and lined up the chopped peppers. Crossing the kitchen again, she put a pan on the stove and turned up the heat. She drizzled olive oil in zig zag lines into it and went to the fridge to pull out a bunch of enokitake mushrooms. She put them into the pan when it heated. In a second pan, Ares prepared peanut noodles.

“I’m so hungry now,” Abigail said as Ares sautéed the mushrooms.   
“Almost finished, Abigail.”

The enokitake mushrooms didn’t take long to cook through. Ares put them into a small bowl and put them down beside the dish with the peppers on it. 

“This is what I like about spring rolls,” Ares smiled. She took fresh mint and basil out of the fridge and gave each herb a rough chop separately. “You can put anything in them.”  
Abigail fixated on Ares’s hand. “You’re not wearing your engagement ring today,” she said suddenly.   
Without a moment of thought, “Hannibal took it.”  
“You’ve called off the engagement?”  
“No, Abigail,” she laughed softly. “He took it to get polished.”  
“Oh,” Abigail exhaled and shook her head.

Ares sliced an avocado open and set each vibrant green sliver down on the rectangular dish beside the other ingredients. Abigail watched intently and nearly bounced in her seat when Ares brought out the rice paper rolls. She dipped them in water, dried them delicately, and spread them out. Abigail began to line up her ingredients while Ares took the noodles off the stove and put them into a bowl. 

“We never eat in here,” Ares said as they enjoyed their spring rolls still standing at the counter.   
“Does Dr. Lecter cook fancy meals and decorate the table all the time?”  
“He insists on it.”  
“Do you ever just…order a pizza or something?”  
“We don’t order anything, he’s made a point about it,” she answered.   
“Even if he comes home late and is too tired too cook?”  
“I prepare dinner those nights.”  
“What if you’re both tired?”  
“He cooks.”  
“Have you been sick at all? I mean, being pregnant.”  
“A few times during the first trimester. Nothing since.”  
“Any weird cravings? My mom used to eat pepperoni pizza with sour cream on it when she was pregnant with me.”  
“Nothing particularly out of the ordinary,” she pursed her lips. “Mostly decadent things…dark chocolate, the more bitter, the better. Hannibal has surprised me with the most indulgent desserts.”  
Abigail smiled longingly. “It’s kind of funny to imagine Dr. Lecter doing anything other than cook and be a psychiatrist.”  
“He’s much more than a chef and a doctor.”  
“He’s a father now.”  
“Precisely.”  
“What’s your favourite thing about him?”

Ares considered the question. A hundred moments caught fire in her memory, each image red and burning to be brought into conscious focus. Some memories were tender, others were violent and charged with aggression. Ares smiled recalling those moments. She looked at Abigail and raised her shoulders.

“Choosing one thing would be an injustice to him.”

Abigail felt her neck tingle with a blush as she watched the warmth of Ares’s thoughts spread across her face. The way her voice softened whenever she spoke of Hannibal made Abigail tremble. The love and affection Ares had for him was so tangible that Abigail felt its intensity. She wanted to feel it, she craved that kind of emotion too. Being with Ares felt like being home again, like belonging to something good and wholesome. 

“I was thinking we could go shopping when we’ve finished lunch, Abigail, how does that sound?”  
“Do you like to shop?”  
“Not in the slightest, but I won’t be shopping for myself today.”  
“Shopping for baby stuff?” Abigail perked up. “I’d like that.”

Their spring rolls were consumed just as quickly as they’d been prepared. Ares and Abigail did the dishes together and left no evidence that they had been in the kitchen at all. They left the house and drove across the city to the mall. Abigail couldn't remember the last time she had been to one. They navigated their way through the vast building to the baby boutique.

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Abigail asked, looking up at Ares.   
“Hannibal is absolutely certain that I’m having a girl.”  
Abigail laughed at the image of Dr. Lecter insisting on a daughter. “Have you been shopping for a daughter, then?”  
“We’ve just been shopping for a child. Hannibal doesn’t believe in limiting a baby to one colour palette because of its sex.”  
“You’re going to have the best dressed baby in Baltimore.”  
“Hmmm, Hannibal thinks so too,” Ares grinned.   
“You’re both elegant.”  
“I have Hannibal to thank for that,” she smiled modestly.

While Ares didn’t dress as eccentrically as Hannibal did, his indelible influence was there. Today, she wore grey herringbone peg trousers and a white twill blouse with a bateau neckline that invited attention and admiration to her pronounced clavicles. Her olive skin looked buttery beneath the delicate fabric. 

“Dr. Lecter didn’t have much to do, you’re so beautiful,” Abigail gushed without thinking.  
“You’re sweet for saying so,” Ares said warmly.  
Abigail willed herself not to blush. She turned away from Ares and pointed across the store to the cribs in an act of distraction. “Let’s go look at the beds.”  
“Hannibal surprised me with the most beautiful chestnut wood crib,” Ares said.

Ares reached over and wrapped her fingers around Abigail’s arm above her elbow to turn her attention elsewhere. Abigail’s heart leapt up into the back of her throat feeling Ares’s touch press into the flesh of her arm. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched her so tenderly. Doctors and nurses had prodded and examined, but they were all so detached. Ares held her arm with the type of gentleness reserved only for mothers to bestow upon their children. 

“Will you, Abigail?”  
“What?”  
“Will you help me pick out a bedspread for the crib?”  
“Of course,” Abigail put her hand over Ares’s on her arm. “Sure.”


	28. Adaequatio Intellectus Et Rei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail ends the day at the Lecter household.

The Lecter nursery was the brightest room in the house. With bare white walls and white furniture and light maple wood floors, the natural light that flooded in through the tall windows made the room appear otherworldly in its brightness. The chestnut wood crib was the focal point of the space — dark, long, and elegant. It was unquestionably Dr. Lecter’s contribution to the nursery. Abigail stepped in after Ares, both women carrying bags filled with the fruits of their long shopping day. Ares flitted around the room like an angel arranging the trinkets and stuffed animals along the long white vanity like she was preparing each item for inspection.

“Have you been in charge of decorating this room?” Abigail asked.   
“Hannibal and I have split the responsibility,” Ares looked over at her. “He’s been very involved.”

Abigail smiled as she enjoyed the mental image of Dr. Lecter in the nursery arranging furniture and folding baby clothes. She couldn’t imagine him in anything other than his windowpane suit, which made her almost laugh. When she refocused her attention, Ares had her back to her and was crouched down at the vanity arranging something in the bottom drawers.

“He’s going to insist you stay for dinner, Abigail,” she said.   
“I would love to.”

Abigail felt two hands squeeze her shoulders gently. Dr. Lecter moved her slightly sideways to step into the room, he and Abigail sharing a silent nod of greeting. He had startled her coming in so soundlessly. He wasn’t wearing his full suit; he had taken his waistcoat and jacket off and even his tie, the top three buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Abigail couldn’t help but stare at the veins on his forearm and the tops of his hands.

“Hannibal has prepared the most beautiful white fish for tonight,” Ares told her, still crouched down. 

Hannibal crossed the room without making a sound and knelt down behind Ares. She leaned back into him instinctually as he wrapped his arms completely around her, his big body swallowing her’s whole. Abigail flushed with a tidal wave of heat watching Dr. Lecter cradle Ares and bury his face into the side of her neck. She watched Ares’s features go from concentration to affection to quiet amusement when Dr. Lecter moved his hands down to her belly. They spoke in audible whispers to each other but Abigail couldn’t make out a single word. She almost excused herself from the room to give them privacy, but before she realized it, Dr. Lecter was on his feet and looking right at her. 

“It’s lovely to see you today, Abigail.”  
“Likewise,” she said, nodding to recalibrate her attention.

Ares stood up behind Dr. Lecter and slid her arm around his mid, her hand resting on his hip, her thumb tucked into the waistband on his pants. Dr. Lecter circled his arm around her shoulders. His fingers massaged small circles on the side of her arm. 

“I trust the day was a successful one,” he gestured to the shopping bags on the floor.  
“It was,” Abigail answered.  
“Abigail is an excellent companion,” Ares smiled warmly to her. “She was such a pleasure to spend the day with.”  
“I hope you worked up an appetite.”  
“We ate five hours ago,” Ares looked to Abigail. “I’m famished.”  
“Me too.”  
Hannibal nodded. “I will prepare dinner, then.” 

Dr. Lecter looked to Ares, who kept her eyes on Abigail, and kissed her temple with a touch that lingered enough to make Abigail feel like her skin was aflame. The intimacy between them was like fire, it threw scorching heat in every direction. Before Abigail could express a single sentiment about dinner, Dr. Lecter was gone and it was just her and Ares in the room again.

“He’s so different around you,” Abigail breathed.   
“Different?”  
“He’s so…he’s nothing like what I’m used to.”  
“I’m his fiancée and the mother of his child, I would be very concerned if he behaved the same way with others that he did with me.”  
Abigail nodded.  
“You’re more than welcome to go downstairs with him if you don’t want to stay up here anymore,” Ares told Abigail.  
“I like being around you, I’m okay here,” she responded confidently.

Ares and Abigail sorted out all the things they had bought that day into two piles — things that could stay and things that had to be sent off to the dry cleaner, which were all the clothes and linens they bought. Abigail mostly watched Ares and the way her nimble hands made quick work of folding the tiny shirts and pants to tuck away into a bag for easy carrying. Ares had long fingers; piano fingers. Abigail wondered if Ares could play the harpsichord like Dr. Lecter could. Or maybe she was a concert pianist when she wasn’t a gymnast, or a violinist or cellist. Abigail knew that Dr. Lecter appreciated the fine arts, she didn’t think it was such a far-fetched idea for Ares to have the same cultural inclinations. She imagined Ares and Dr. Lecter together in elegant formal wear attending an opera or a symphony. She was sure that they would draw more attention as a couple than the performance itself. There was something so striking about seeing their faces close together, it was like watching a pool of gasoline stretch towards a lit match. 

“Abigail,” Ares called from the door of the nursery. “Coming down?”  
Abigail nodded and trotted over to Ares.  
“You’re awfully pensive today,” Ares remarked gently as they made their way to the main foyer down the stairs, Ares holding the bag of clothes and linens to her hip. “Should I tie a a little leash to you to keep you from straying too far?”

Ares touched the skin of Abigail’s neck beneath her hair so gently that it made her shiver audibly. Abigail laughed to alleviate the pressure of Ares’s closeness.

“I always find my way back.”

Dr. Lecter stood at the foot of the stairs twisting a white dish cloth between his threatening hands. He had his white apron tied around his waist, the fabric ironed and flawless. Abigail always wondered how he kept it so clean whenever he cooked. 

“Ares,” he said with mock firmness.   
“Yes?”  
Dr. Lecter winked at Abigail. “Let me take that bag out to the car.”  
“I’ve got it,” Ares brushed past Hannibal, her shoulder bumping his intentionally. 

Dr. Lecter smiled as if preparing to laugh but no sound came out. He looked to Abigail and invited her to follow him into the dining room. Abigail trailed behind him and took her seat to the right of Dr. Lecter’s place at the head. He pulled her chair out and tucked her in before he sat down. 

“What a pleasant surprise it is to have you at my table this evening, Abigail.”  
“I’m glad to be here,” she smiled.  
“Did you enjoy your day with Ares?”  
She nodded.  
“You seem preoccupied, Abigail. What are you thinking about?”  
“Do you love Ares?”  
“Are you in love with my fiancée, Abigail?” 

The way Dr. Lecter volleyed the question back to Abigail without a second of hesitation nearly knocked her out of her seat. Her mouth hung half open as she looked at Dr. Lecter, who was intent on receiving an answer with his brow raised expectantly. He angled his head slightly back. Abigail felt like she was drowning. 

“I will allow this flirtation to continue for as long as it remains a flirtation,” Dr. Lecter advised. His tone droned evenly. “I cannot condone anything beyond it.”  
“It’s not my fault,” she gasped.  
“I understand, Abigail. We do not choose who bewitches us, we simply become enchanted. I am enchanted with Ares as much as you are but with one very important distinction.”  
“What’s what?”  
“She reciprocates my affections, Abigail.” 

Dr. Lecter looked at her with a searing intensity in his eyes so potent that Abigail needed to look away. She squeezed her eyes closed and bit her lips together as they spasmed wildly. She swallowed back the sting of tears that assaulted her throat and the inside of her nose. She drew in a sharp inhale when she heard the front door open and close. 

“We will not discuss this further,” Dr. Lecter said with polite finality. 

Abigail composed herself and looked up at Ares, who appeared in the dining room like a benevolent vision. She smiled at the young woman and extinguished the flames of tension that had risen between her and Hannibal, who pushed back in his chair to stand up. He took Ares’s left hand in both of his and slid her beautiful engagement ring onto her finger.

“Back where it belongs,” he kissed her knuckles.  
“Hmmm, how beautiful,” Ares purred, admiring the piece of jewelry. 

Ares looked across the table at Abigail and grinned as if they were indulging in a private pleasure. Abigail’s whole body tensed. She wanted so desperately to be sitting next to Ares, close enough for their arms and legs to touch like they had earlier that day when they shopped, to smell the burst of scent that she created when she moved, when her hair swayed and cascaded down her shoulders like ribbons of silk. 

Dr. Lecter served the entrees. Ares detailed the day she and Abigail spent together to Hannibal while they ate. Abigail kept her attention down on her meal but she could feel Ares’s eyes on her throughout dinner. Dr. Lecter listened more than he spoke and didn’t say more than five words the entire evening. 

After dessert, Ares drove Abigail back to the hospital.

“I had a lot of fun today,” Abigail said when they reached her room. “I hope we can spend more time together like that. Just us.”  
“We will,” Ares smiled, moving Abigail’s hair back off her shoulders. She tapped the underside of her chin and Abigail lifted her face. “Eyes up, Abigail. You’re too beautiful to keep your head down.”  
Abigail smiled modestly.   
“Doctor Alana Bloom will be by tomorrow to see you.”  
Abigail’s smile faltered.  
“Dr. Bloom is a good soul, Abigail. You can trust her. She just wants to help you.”  
“I need to tell you something,” Abigail said urgently, tears bubbling in her voice.

Ares took Abigail’s hands and lead her over to the bed. The two of them sat beside each other. Abigail leaned into Ares like a child desperate for comfort. Ares wrapped her arm around her and combed her fingers lightly through her pin straight hair. Abigail heaved in a series of breaths before she found the words to speak.

“I helped my father…I knew what he was, what he did…I knew about all of it. I was the one who met with the girls, talked to them. Laughed and joked. I found out where they lived, where they were going, when they’d be alone,” she looked up at Ares. “I’m a murderer.”  
“You’re not a murderer,” Ares stroked her cheek to wipe the flood of tears from her ivory skin. “You’re a survivor.”   
“Did you know?” She sniffled, leaning into Ares’s hand like a sunflower turning into the sun.   
Ares shook her head.  
“Are you disappointed?”  
“It was kill or be killed,” Ares whispered as she pulled Abigail into a tight embrace. “You did the right thing.”


	29. Ad Oculos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Graham suffers a moment of confusion with Dr. Lecter and Abel Gideon

“I’ve gone seven months without any problems, why should we make one now?”  
“It’s not a problem, Ares. A suggestion.”

Ares shook her head until Hannibal grabbed her chin to steady her face. Her vitreous eyes darkened with mischievous playfulness. Hannibal grinned.

“What you’re suggesting is that I buy my own clothes instead of wearing yours. Is that right, Dr. Lecter?”  
“My dry cleaner may start asking questions if I continue bringing him double what he’s accustomed to receiving from me.”  
“Let him ask questions. You’re good with questions.”  
“Let me buy you new clothes that will fit you.”  
“He likes your royal oxford shirts,” Ares tilted her head sideways as she reclined against the nest of pillows she’d created for herself. “They’re so soft.”

Hannibal remained seated at the edge of the bed and admired Ares; his queen in repose. She crossed her ankles in his lap. Hannibal caressed the length of her shin with his palm. She wore one of his shirts now, a black chambray with the buttons done halfway from the top so that it splayed open to expose her growing stomach. Hannibal often caught himself feeling impressed with how she had maintained her body throughout the pregnancy. Ares and Hannibal had their vanity in common.

His eyes moved up her thighs to her black panties. He appreciated the coordination tonight and expressed that sentiment with a small smile before he lay back in bed, his feet still on the floor. He kept one hand over Ares’s feet in his lap and folded his other arm under his head.

“Hannibal.”  
“Yes Ares?”  
“Have you thought of any names for the baby?”  
He turned his head to look up at her. “I have.”  
“Tell me.”  
“Annelise Mathilde Lecter.”  
“Hm.”  
“Do you like it?”  
“What about for a boy?”  
“We’re having a girl, Ares.”  
“Amedeo Bertoldo Lecter.”  
“Italian.”  
Ares nodded.  
“Maybe for our second child.”

Ares tossed a decorative pillow at Hannibal, her laughter filling the room. Hannibal deflected the pillow with his arm and crawled up the bed to rest his head in her lap. He nudged the supple skin of her belly with his nose before kissing a trail to her navel. He looked up at her but closed his eyes when she combed her fingers through his hair.

“Hannibal.”  
He turned his head to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Yes, Ares.”  
“When will we marry?”

A thunderous knock at the front door echoed right up to the bedroom. Hannibal sat up, brow knit together. 

“Are you expecting someone?”

Hannibal shook his head. He got out of bed and told Ares to stay put while he went downstairs to see who could possibly be knocking on his door so late.

“Will,” Hannibal was surprised when he opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

Stepping back, he gestured for Will to come inside. He shoved his pistol into the small of Abel Gideon’s back, the two of them trudging inside. Hannibal closed the door behind them before leading the two into the dining room. Abel sat at the head of the table but Will remained standing by Hannibal near the fireplace. 

“I didn’t know where else to go. I’m... I’m having a hard time thinking. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I don’t know what’s real,” Will stammered. 

Will raised a trembling hand and held his gun sideways pointed at Abel, who sat calmly with his eyes fixed on Hannibal. Dr. Gideon watched the cogs turn behind Hannibal’s eyes while he mapped out a course of action to navigate the situation.

“It’s 7:27 PM. You’re in Baltimore, Maryland. Your name is Will Graham,” Hannibal said assertively.  
“I don’t care who I am. Tell me,” Will whimpered, looking at Abel. “If he’s real.”  
“Who do you see, Will?”  
“Garret Jacob Hobbs…who do you see?”  
“I don’t see anyone.”

A whimper of helplessness bubbled out of Will’s mouth. The gun rattled in his hand. He kept it pointed at Abel, who sat statuesque and composed, not the least bit concerned at the idea of potentially being shot.

“He’s. Right. There.”  
“There’s no one there, Will.”  
Will shook his head furiously as he looked intently at Abel. “You’re lying.”  
“We’re alone. You came here alone. Do you remember coming here?”  
Sobbing, Will cried out. “Please don’t lie to me.”  
“Garret Jacob Hobbs is dead. You killed him. You watched him die.”  
Will used his free hand to cradle his face, his sobs rocking his entire body now. “What’s happening to me?”  
“You’re having an episode. I want you to hand me your gun.”

Will sucked in a breath of air like he was under water. His teeth chattered and he shook violently. Hannibal grabbed the gun from Will’s hand and removed it from his clammy hold. He held Will’s face in his hands, his thumbs on his cheeks to pull his eyelid down to examine his pupil. 

“He’s had a mild seizure.”  
“That doesn’t seem to bother you,” Abel finally spoke.  
“I said it was mild,” he responded, going to sit at the head of the table opposite Abel. “Are you the man who claimed to be the Chesapeake Ripper?”  
“Why do you say claimed?”  
“Because you’re not. You know you’re not and you don’t know much more about who you are beyond that. A terrible thing…to have your identity taken from you.”  
“I’m taking it back one piece at a time. You should see the pieces I got out of my psychiatrist.”  
“Alana Bloom was one of your psychiatrists too. Is that right?”  
“Yes. Dr. Bloom.”  
“I can tell you where to find her.”

Hannibal and Abel left the dining room and returned to the front door. Will remained standing in his place, teeth chattering quietly, face spasming. Hannibal offered his counsel to Abel, who left promptly. Hannibal pulled on his coat and took out his car keys before he returned to Will, who resembled an upright cadaver in the condition he was in.

“Will... can you hear me?”  
Disoriented, Will nodded.  
“Repeat after me. My name is Will Graham.”  
“My name is Will Graham.”  
“Now raise both your arms.”  
Will lifted his arms.  
“Higher, please.”  
Will raised them more.  
“Good,” he pushed Will’s arms back down to his sides. “Now, although you may not feel like it, I need you to smile.”  
Will blinked several times before twisting his pasty features into a grim smile.  
“It wasn’t a stroke,” Hannibal decided as he helped Will to sit down in front of him. “You may have had a seizure. Tell me the last thing you remember.”  
“I was with Garret Jacob Hobbs.”  
“You have a fever, Will. You were hallucinating. You thought he was alive. In the room with you.”  
“I saw him.”  
“He’s a delusion disguising reality. Don’t let that let you slip away. You killed Garret Jacob Hobbs once. Can find a way to kill him again.”  
Hannibal put his car keys on the table after plucking them from his pocket.   
“Where are you going?”  
“I’m worried about Alana Bloom. Abel Gideon is still at large. He mutilated Dr. Chilton. They found him clinging to life—”

Will shot up from his seat and swayed on his unsteady legs. Hannibal put his hands on Will’s shoulders and forced him gently back into his seat. Will resisted with sputtered protest but Hannibal’s hands did not allow him to move.

“Alana,” Will managed coherently.   
“You’re in no state to go anywhere but the hospital. I’ll call Jack Crawford. Tell him where you are.”

Hannibal entered his kitchen to use the phone on the counter. He heard Will stumble to his feet and snatch Hannibal’s keys from the table. A second later, the front door swung open and slammed closed. Hannibal smiled and took his coat off to go hang back up in the closet. He saw Ares standing on the stairs in his peripheral vision wrapped tightly in his dressing gown.

“What was that all about, Hannibal?”  
“Nothing to concern yourself with tonight,” he hummed, turning off the lights on the main floor. He climbed the stairs to where Ares stood. “Let’s go back to bed.”


	30. Miserabile Visu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will loses Abigail

“I went to Minnesota. I took Abigail. We went to Minnesota. She didn’t come back with me.”

Hannibal felt some semblance of pity seeing Will curled up on the front steps of his porch shivering and dirty, his skin chalky and paled. His clothes were stained with sweat and earth. Hannibal frowned but felt nothing.

“Show me.”

When Will didn’t respond, Hannibal stepped closer and offered his hand out. Will looked at the tips of his fingers before gripping Hannibal’s strong hand and using it to pull himself to stand. His knees trembled and he swayed, but Hannibal steadied him and ushered him into the house, his hands on either side of Will’s arms. He sat Will down in a chair in the hallway outside of the kitchen and went into his bedroom to retrieve a thick wool blanket. He shook it open and wrapped it around Will’s shoulders, pulling it closed over his front. Will grabbed for its edges feebly for something to hold in his tense fingers. He kept his eyes downcast but followed the sound of Hannibal’s slow footsteps into the kitchen. Hannibal peered into the sink. He saw the severed ear covered in vomit and surrounded by four perfect intact white pills. Will shook so much beneath the blanket that he couldn’t even see straight. 

“I don’t remember going to bed last night. But I must have. Maybe I got up to let the dogs out and I—”  
“When did you last see Abigail?” Hannibal returned to Will in the hallway.  
“I woke up and my feet were muddy—”  
“Will,” Hannibal said forcefully. “When did you last see Abigail?   “Yesterday. At her father’s cabin. I had an episode. She said something was wrong with me. She was afraid of me. She ran away.”  
“What happened? Why was she afraid?”   “I hallucinated. I hallucinated that I killed her. But it wasn’t real. I know it wasn’t real.”

Will forced himself to finally look up at Hannibal, his big eyes wide with desperation. Hannibal could only offer a look of bewilderment as he crouched down beside Will, his hand on the armrest of the chair. He rubbed his own cheek and his forehead. Will felt nauseous seeing Hannibal so visibly disturbed.

“Will, we have to call Jack Crawford. You can’t run from this. It will only make things worse. Get dressed.”

Will reached for Hannibal as a brace to stand with, but the older man moved away and stood with his back to Will. The gesture made Will’s bones rattle inside of him. He stuttered in a breath and stood by himself, dizzy with anxiety and leaning against the wall the entire way to his bedroom.

Hannibal watched the procession begin when Jack Crawford arrived with his troops in toe. No one spoke. Everyone avoided eye contact. Bodies moved in and out of the house, photographing and cataloguing, collecting and bagging. Will’s home was no longer his own, it was a crime scene, a location to be dusted and searched. Jack cuffed Will and lead him out to the back of a waiting squad car. Will could only stare out the window and watch as his quiet Wolf Trap abode turned into a circus ground of officers, investigators, and animal service agents in a matter of minutes. 

Jack and Hannibal spoke briefly and quietly. Hannibal, ever the professional, maintained the air off assuredness that Jack needed to keep himself focused and on task. They exchanged words, discussed what was to happen beyond this, and then parted ways. From Will’s home, Hannibal returned to his own home where he was greeted by the aroma of a hot meal. He took off his coat and entered the dining room. Abigail sat across from Ares at the table.

“Abigail,” Hannibal smiled. “You’re awake.”

Abigail looked over at Dr. Lecter slowly and blinked to focus her eyes on him. She nodded slowly but she didn’t speak.

“She’s still dazed, Hannibal,” Ares said. “I made soup. Something light for Abigail.”  
“Of course.”

Dr. Lecter knelt down beside her and checked the dressing that covered the side of her face almost like a mask. Abigail was still completely out of sorts; the anaesthetic hadn't worn off yet. Regardless, she looked good. The fact that she was conscious and moderately responsive was good news. He took his seat as Ares served them each a big bowl of the soup she had cooked.

“Abigail,” Hannibal said, reaching over and closing his hand over her’s. “This is the best thing for you. You’re safe with us. No one can harm you here.”  
Abigail looked at Dr. Lecter and then at Ares. A smile spread slowly across her lips as she nodded. “I know. I’m happy here.”


	31. Modus Vivendi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entering into Season 2 territory. Hannibal goes for a swim.

Abigail improved significantly in the following weeks. Her wound healed almost completely and she adjusted well to her new life in the Lecter household. To ensure her transition from Port Haven to their home was as comfortable as possible, Hannibal acted as Abigail’s psychiatrist. It wasn’t necessary, but Hannibal found it kept the established power differential between them intact. While he cared deeply for Abigail and took special interest in her mental well-being, his priority was Ares and their unborn child and he never shied away from making his bias known. 

The one thing that kept Abigail content no matter what was living in such close quarters with Ares. Their relationship thrived. Abigail found every refuge and pleasure in Ares — she was simultaneously a mother, a sister, and a lover. Despite no longer being able to go out together, Abigail and Ares made the most of the space available to them. Abigail was given a bedroom that was completely her own. She decorated it to her liking, picked out the furniture and linens she wanted, and arranged it as she pleased. Ares and Abigail spent most of their days in that room either lying on the floor or on the bed talking for hours on end. Some days, Abigail couldn’t get her words out fast enough. Other days, neither woman spoke at all. 

But, as close as they had become, Abigail still found that she knew little about Ares. On the rare occasions that Ares spoke openly, she talked about the baby, about her gymnastics, and sometimes about her relationship with Hannibal, but only about things Abigail had already seen herself; that Hannibal was generous and affectionate, that he was patient and kind, and that he was very focused on his work. Ares was the same kind of unattainable person that Hannibal was — both gave the air of transparency and openness while keeping themselves removed. The only difference was that Ares reciprocated Abigail’s affections, not in words, but in gestures and proximity. Abigail was content with that.

The closest Abigail had ever come to seeing Hannibal and Ares as their true selves was the day of their wedding. Ares was the portrait of composure, but Hannibal fidgeted and paced before they left the house. They were married at the Baltimore County Courthouse on a rainy Sunday morning. Jack Crawford was Hannibal’s best man; Alana Bloom was Ares’s maid of honour. Frederick Chilton was also in attendance. It was a small affair, brief but elegant. Abigail remained in her room while Hannibal and Ares hosted the reception in their dining room. Everyone drank and ate and laughed for hours. Abigail could only make out fragments of their conversations, but she was able to distinguish who was speaking and who was laughing. She heard Hannibal laugh, hard and loud, for the first time. It was because of something Ares said, a hushed joke that Abigail assumed was too vulgar to say out loud. 

When the festivities ended and everyone left, Hannibal and Ares were left at the table and Abigail joined them for a late dinner. Ares was stone sober out of necessity, but Hannibal had imbibed generously and was pleasantly inebriated. He was chattier than usual and more inclined to laugh. Ares humoured his amusement while showering Abigail with the attention she had missed out on earlier that day.

Married life seemed to suit them. Their matching yellow gold wedding bands grounded their violent personalities for a short time, but the closer Ares was to the end of her pregnancy, the more hostile Hannibal became. He was ferociously protective of Ares. He took time off work to stay home with her, something Abigail took badly. Hannibal being home more meant she and Ares couldn’t spend time alone together. Ares tried to balance her husband’s needs with Abigail’s, but Hannibal won out every time. He was forceful and Ares was tired.

On one particular night, Hannibal was adamant on staying home instead of going to the health club he usually went to for his weekly swim. Ares was intent on him leaving.

“Hannibal,” Ares huffed. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”   
“Ares.”  
“I won’t here another word from you,” she shook her head as she tucked a towel into Hannibal’s leather bag.  
“You’ve been pacing all day, Ares,” Hannibal pressed. “You can’t sit still because your back is acting up.”  
“My back has been bothering me for the past five weeks, why is tonight suddenly different from any other night?”  
“Because you’re forty weeks pregnant, Ares. You’re two days past your due date.”  
“I’m perfectly capable of handling myself if something happens. You haven’t been taking enough time for yourself lately and it’s been showing in your face. You look tired. Go to the health club, swim a few laps. I’ll be here when you get back.”

She zipped his bag up after packing his swim trunks and goggles and held it out to him. He stared at it like it was a foreign object for a few seconds before taking it and hanging it off his shoulder. Against better judgement, he conceded to her suggestion. He gave her belly an affectionate rub, his touch lingering for a few seconds when he felt the baby kicking around.

“I sincerely hope you both have the decency to wait until I am present and accounted for,” Hannibal remarked.  
“Get out of here, Hannibal.”  
“Take it easy,” he advised as they left the bedroom together. “Please, Ares.”  
“Abigail and I are going to watch a movie, we’ll be fine.”  
“Abigail, see to it that Ares stays off her feet tonight.”  
“I will.”

Hannibal kissed his wife, said goodbye to Abigail, and left. He arrived at the club just as the sun began to set. He entered the building, letting himself in with a swipe of his identification card over a sensor. He changed in the locker room and made his way out to the pool, pleased when he saw that he had it to himself. He dove into the water and swam fast lengths until his lungs burned. He paused briefly for air at the end of the pool. He wiped the salt water from his face and heaved out a long exhale.

“Hello.”

Hannibal turned around. A man standing at his lane raised a gun and shot. Everything went black.

Regaining consciousness slowly, Hannibal realized he was no longer in the water. The rough pressure of thick rope stung against his neck. He twitched his arms, pulling against the duct tape binds. He saw blood cascading down the blue marble like a stream. His own blood. Through squinted eyes, he saw that his wrists had been slit. Hannibal grunted.

“Judas had the decency to hang himself in shame at his betrayal,” a smug voice said. “But I thought you needed help.”

He paced in front of Hannibal with his tranquilizer gun still in his hand. He was fit and pleased with himself. Hannibal recognized him as Matthew Brown.

“Did you know that the phrase "to kick the bucket" came from exactly this situation? You could kick it out right now yourself and it'd all be over,” he offered. “Quicker than bleeding out.”  
Hannibal swallowed hard and strained against the pressure of the noose. The bucket teetered under his feet. “You're a nurse at the hospital. You're setting a new standard of care,” he swallowed again. “Will Graham is not what you think. He's not a murderer.”  
Matthew grinned. “He is now. By proxy.”  
“He asked you to do this?”   
“What are friends for?” He asked contentedly. “Now I'm going to ask you a few yes or no questions while you still have enough blood coursing through your brain to answer them. You ready?”   
“Ready.”  
“Did you kill that judge? I can ask you yes-or-no questions, you don't have to say a word, and I'll know what the answer is,” he explained matter-of-factly. “The pupil dilates with specific mental efforts. You dilate, that's a yes. No dilation equals no.” With rabid excited in his eyes, he asked Hannibal, “Are you the Chesapeake Ripper?”

Hannibal felt hyperaware of the dilation of his pupil. He made no effort to blink or to look away, he kept his gaze fixed on Matthew’s manic face.

“How many times have you watched someone cling on to a life that's not really worth living? Eking out a few extra seconds. Wondering why they bother.”  
“I know why,” Hannibal wheezed. The noose squeezed against his throat. “Life is precious.”  
“The Chesapeake Ripper,” he beamed, stretching his arms out. “I wonder what they're gonna call me. You know, the Iroquois used to eat their enemies to take their strength. Maybe your murders will become my murders. I'll be the Chesapeake Ripper now.”  
“Only if you eat me,” Hannibal whispered.  
“Put your hands where I can see them,” Jack Crawford called out, his voice booming thunderously in the hangar-like space.   
Hannibal pushed against the noose. “He's got a gun, Jack!” 

Jack shot. Matthew collapsed on the floor beside Hannibal, squirming uncomfortably as the searing pain of his wound gripped his nerves. He turned on his side and extended his leg over to the bucket as Jack and Alana Bloom made a run for Hannibal. Matthew shoved the bucket out from underneath Hannibal with a mighty boot of his heel.

“Hold on! Hold on, hold on,” Jack bolted towards Hannibal and grabbed him by the hips, lifting him over his shoulder to take the pressure off his neck. “Get an ambulance, Alana!”

Alana yanked her phone from her pocket and dialled for an ambulance as fast as her fingers could. After she made the call, she rushed over to Jack and Hannibal, equal parts terrified and relieved over the scene. 

The ambulance arrived quickly and a team of medics swarmed inside. Hannibal was cut down from the noose and out of the duct tape and loaded immediately onto a gurney to be taken to the hospital while two more medics tended to Matthew Brown. Jack and Alana remained at the pool while the scene was processed. 

“Hannibal has a wife,” Jack rubbed his face. He made a feeble attempt to towel Hannibal’s blood and sweat off his jacket. “Will you call her, Alana?”  
“Isn’t she pregnant? I think we should go over and take her to the hospital ourselves. It would be irresponsible to let her find her own way, especially considering what’s happened.”  
Jack considered and then nodded. “Start the car, Alana, I’ll be out in a moment.”

Alana went ahead while Jack hung back to make sure everything was being taken care of appropriately. When he was no longer needed, he went out to Alana and they left for Hannibal’s home, arriving swiftly after using their police lights to bypass red lights and traffic. They rang twice before Ares answered.

“Jack, Alana,” she said with a small, apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”  
“Good evening, Mrs. Lecter,” Jack greeted her.  
“Hannibal is out, but he—”  
“That’s what we’re here for,” Alana said sympathetically. “Hannibal is in the hospital.”  
“For what reason?”  
“Will Graham sent a nurse from the State Hospital to kill him,” Jack said.  
“I trust he was unsuccessful in his attempt.”  
“Barely.”  
“Please come in,” Ares stepped back. “I need a moment to change and get clothes for Hannibal.”  
Jack and Alana entered after Ares.   
“Let me help you, Ares,” Alana offered.

Ares accepted with a nod. She started up the stairs, Alana walking alongside her. They entered the master bedroom together. Ares set a leather weekend bag down at the foot of the bed and packed black trousers and a maroon cashmere sweater for Hannibal. 

“I’m sorry to see you again under such unfortunate circumstances,” Alana said quietly.   
“I’m sorry too,” Ares closed the bag.   
“How far along are you now?”  
“All the way along,” Ares said, entering the closet. She shrugged her pyjamas off. “Hannibal beat me to the hospital tonight.”  
Alana knew it was a joke but Alana couldn’t find it in herself to laugh.   
“How badly is Hannibal injured?”  
“He was hanged and his wrists were slit, he had lost a substantial amount of blood by the time we arrived.”  
“Hanged?”  
“Not…completely. He was made to stand on a bucket like some kind of private mockery.”

Ares emerged from the closet with a second change of clothes for herself. She went into the bathroom to retrieve Hannibal’s toiletries — his shampoo, his straight blade and shaving cream, his aftershave. She put them into a small leather satchel and packed it into the bag with their clothes. 

“I’ll take this,” Alana offered, taking up the weekend bag.   
“Thank you, Dr. Bloom.”


	32. Tabula Rasa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal becomes a father.

Hannibal was unconscious the first time Ares visited him in his hospital room the night he had been admitted. Bandaged and bruised, he lay unconscious and motionless while Ares calmed his fever with cold compresses over his forehead and chest. Every so often, the muscles of his arms and legs would spasm like earthquake tremors. Ares recognized his violent nightmares and his body’s attempts to save him from them. Ares knew she could only stroke his face and whisper quiet words of comfort.

The second time Hannibal was visited was by Alana Bloom the next morning. Hannibal sat upright in bed, fully conscious and lucid, eyes red and swollen. Bruises coloured his neck dark blue and purple beneath the raw skin where the rope had cut him. He wore his own clothes that Ares had packed for him but was still hooked up to the same machines as the previous night. In Alana’s arms, Hannibal’s newborn daughter was swaddled in a white blanket. Alana looked sleepless. Hannibal’s lip twitched when the newborn yawned audibly. 

“Alana.”

Hannibal’s deeply hoarse voice startled her. She shook her head and licked her trembling lips and inhaled deeply through her nose. Hannibal noticed her red-rimmed eyes, the dark circles beneath them, the flush in her cheeks. Her chin shook despite the tension in her lips. 

“You shouldn’t be speaking, Hannibal,” Alana said quietly.  
“Where is Ares?”  
Alana shook her head again, her chin shaking more noticeably now.  
“Where is Ares, Alana?” Hannibal barked, his voice thin and strained.

Hannibal’s voice rose high enough to catch Jack’s attention in the hallway. He opened the door and stepped inside behind Alana. He rested a sympathetic hand on her shoulder as he looked over at Hannibal, who looked ready to bound up from the hospital bed with ferocious savagery. 

“There were complications during the delivery, Hannibal,” Jack answered as gently as his booming voice allowed. “Ares has been put in a medical coma.”  
“That’s not possible,” Hannibal snapped dismissively. 

Jack walked around Alana and went to Hannibal’s bedside. He dropped himself heavily in a vacant chair and Hannibal knew he had been awake for as long as Alana had been. Hannibal scanned his tired face for some kind of comfort or condolence but there was none to be found. Jack was drained. Alana was drained. 

“Who was with her?” Hannibal asked, his voice low and even.  
“I was,” Alana responded. Fresh tears pooled in her eyelashes but she swallowed and found her courage. “I was with her the entire time. She was so strong, Hannibal. She fought so hard to hold on.”

Hannibal couldn’t bring himself to look Alana in the face. His eyes focused on the child in her arms. His child. Alana crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bed, angling her body enough for Hannibal to be able to see daughter for the first time. Her pink face looked like a blossom surrounded by the lush white blanket. She had her eyes squeezed shut, her tiny features fine and symmetrical. She was a beautiful baby. Hannibal felt overwhelmed seeing her. 

“Annelise Mathilde Lecter,” Alana whispered. “Do you want to hold her?”  
Hannibal shook his head. Neither acknowledged his stitched and bandaged wrists.  
“You should hold her,” Alana pressed. “You need to hold her.”  
“I want to see Ares,” Hannibal said with accidental loudness. 

The sudden sound jolted baby Annelise from her sleep with a start. She pushed her tiny hands and feet against the blanket swaddled around her for several seconds before letting out a small cry. Hearing his daughter’s distress gutted him. He felt an immediate impulse to rip himself free from his IVs and destroy everything within arm’s reach as if an offering of brutality would restore Ares to full health. His heart pounded violently against his ribs as he slumped back into his pillows. The heart monitor beeped wildly as his pulse elevated. He felt smothered. He pulled at his collar with half-consciousness. Jack got up and leaned over Hannibal to hold his hands away from his throat carefully, cautious not to disturb his bandaged wrists or aggravate his ligature marks. Hannibal made a small effort to fight against Jack’s tight grip, but an oxygen mask was placed over his mouth and he dozed quickly into a black oblivion. 

Hannibal saw Ares. He saw her tall and beautiful and smiling. She beckoned him closer and he ran to her but she remained far away, glorious and unattainable. Hannibal fell through a hole in the floor and Ares was gone. Every darkness and shadow and glint of light receded back into memory like a waning tide. 

Forcing his eyes open, Hannibal’s pupils shrunk instantly under the bright hospital lights. One by one, his senses mapped out the room. Jack stood at the foot of his bed. Alana sat beside. Baby Annelise lay swaddled in a blue blanket in Alana’s protective arms. Jack and Alana had both showered and changed into clean clothes and drank copious amounts of coffee. The scent of the watery hospital brew filled the room. 

Hannibal let his eyes close again. He waited for Ares to return but he stood alone in the dark crippled by his anticipation. The air in his lungs felt heavy in his chest. He felt pressure all over.

Annelise cried out. Hannibal’s eyes snapped open and he looked towards her. Jack, with his mighty arms folded across his chest, suggested a bottle for the baby. Alana agreed. Neither were aware of Hannibal’s abrupt return to consciousness.

“I want to feed her,” Hannibal croaked.  
Jack and Alana both looked towards him at the same time but Alana spoke first. “You’re awake.”  
“I want to feed her, Alana, give her to me.” 

The room tilted on a harsh angle when Hannibal righted himself in bed. The stitches on his wrist pulled sharply beneath the gauze when he used his hands to brace himself on either edge of the stiff hospital mattress. He sat perfectly erect, back straight and apart from the starchy pillows the nurses had piled behind him. He held his arms up to accept his daughter, the sleeves of his cashmere sweater wrinkled from restless sleep. Alana glanced at Jack and Hannibal snarled with hair-trigger impatience.

“I do not require Jack’s permission to be given my child.” Alana opened her mouth to beg pardon but Hannibal pressed on. “Give her to me, please.”

Blanched with embarrassment, Alana stood and passed the whimpering newborn to Hannibal. He cradled her gingerly in the bend of one arm and used his other hand to move the blanket away from her tiny, precious face. He saw her clearly now. She cried out at Hannibal’s unfamiliar scent but quieted when he reclined enough to rest her against his chest. He unzipped his sweater enough to let baby Annelise rest her cheek on his bare skin. Startled by the contact, she pushed against Hannibal’s chest with clumsy hands and feet. He raised his hand to her back and traced the outline of her tiny body through the blanket. He measured eighteen inches crown to toe. Massaging small, gentle circles up and down the length of her back silenced her cries. 

Hannibal looked down at Annelise. She blinked sleepily at him with big, clear russet eyes and yawned again. He delighted visibly in his new daughter’s pale face as a broad smile spread across his face. With her unblemished skin like porcelain and smattering of wispy blonde hair, she looked like a cherub. Hannibal could tell her fine mouth and eyes would show and sharpen severely like his own features. Ares had given him a gorgeous daughter in his image and for that he would be eternally indebted to her. 

Seeing Hannibal smile so openly left Alana and Jack feeling like voyeurs out in plain sight. Jack shifted his weight from one foot to the other and gestured to the door with his chin. Alana nodded. They excused themselves but their exits when unacknowledged. When the door closed behind them, Hannibal sat up again and raised the top of his hand to his mouth. Hooking his teeth under the medical tape, he peeled it off and pulled the IV from his skin. He let it fall to the floor beside the hospital bed and licked the pearl of blood that formed at the puncture point. 

Annelise let out a cry of displeasure being upright. Her brow reddened with her discontent.

“Shhh shhh shhh,” he hummed.

Hannibal took Annelise out of her blanket. His heart beat like a gavel when he saw she was wearing the white onesie Hannibal had commissioned especially for her with her initials embroidered across the front in fine gold thread. Ares teased Hannibal endlessly for having clothes made for her. When he closed his eyes, he could still hear the sandy notes of Ares voice against his ear, the feeling of her warm breath against his skin when her laughter punctuated her searing remarks. Annelise cried out to remind Hannibal which reality he needed to remain in.

Two fat tears bowled down her cheeks as Hannibal cradled her. He placated her with the tip of his index finger in her tiny mouth. She sucked it rhythmically and bit down on it between prods with her curious tongue. Her big eyes blinked up at him from under her flushed brow, the top of her nose the same red tint. Annelise smelled almost identically to Ares; cool and citric. 

Annelise remained awake cocooned in the nook between Hannibal’s forearm and his chest as he paced around the hospital room. Her eyes darted around for quick bursts at a time but always landed back on her father’s face. She pushed against his chest with her hands and feet every so often, her new muscles adjusting to freedom outside of her mother’s protective womb. When she cried out again, Hannibal knew she was hungry. He took her bottle up from the bedside table and fed her, the infant latching on immediately and suckling hungrily. When she finished, Hannibal burped her and wiped her mouth clean. He let her have his finger again as he left the room.

Jack and Alana looked at Hannibal at the same time. Two day’s worth of stubble and the wrinkles in his black trousers and maroon sweater were the only thing that gave Hannibal away as a patient. Alana opened her mouth to express the urgent fact that Hannibal needed to be in bed still but Jack stepped in front of her and got the first word in. 

“You look like a man with no intentions of being confined to a bed.”  
“Which room is Ares in, Jack?”  
“Hannibal, you shouldn’t be on your feet,” Alana interjected.  
“And yet, here I am,” he responded shortly. He shook his head when he realized how rude his response was. “My apologies, Alana.”  
She sighed with annoyance but knew she couldn’t fault Hannibal for his uncharacteristically brash behaviour. “Hannibal, you need to go back to bed. You suffered a tremendous physical trauma, your body needs to recuperate.”  
“I understand your concern, Alana, but I need to see Ares right now.”  
Alana looked up and down the hallway for Hannibal’s supervising doctor. He was nowhere in sight. “Leave Annelise with Jack. I’ll take you to Ares’s room.”

Hannibal scanned Alana’s face. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip for several seconds before stepping over to Jack and handing his newborn to him. She squealed when she no longer felt Hannibal’s warmth. Jack cradled her carefully and rocked her until she quieted down. Hannibal didn’t move from his side until Annelise seemed content.

“We’ll be fine, Hannibal,” Jack assured him. “Go on.”  
“Hannibal,” Alana said, starting down the hallway.

Hannibal followed behind Alana. She walked quickly and with determination, her heels echoing against the stark white walls and between his ears. He trailed several paces behind her. The hallway teetered unsteadily under Hannibal’s feet. He felt winded by the time they reached the elevator and made a tremendous effort to mask his uneasiness. He looked down at the tips of his polished leather shoes and cleared his throat, once quietly, a second time more laboriously. The ligature marks that coloured his skin pulled against his cough and Hannibal wondered if the noose was still fastened at his throat. 

The stainless steel doors parted and Alana entered first. Hannibal stepped in and braced himself against the wall with his hand. His crisp bandages peeked out from beneath his sleeve. Alana examined Hannibal. His shoulders drooped, his posture hunched forward. His palm left a print of steam against the elevator wall.

“We can go back to your room if you feel unwell, Hannibal.” 

Alana spoke with a softness akin to a whisper despite it being only her and Hannibal in the elevator. Hannibal seemed to consider her offer but shook his head, his hair falling across his forehead like a veil. It was just long enough to get in front his eyes. Alana could tell he was overdo for a haircut. 

The elevator stopped with force enough to get a grunt out of Hannibal. He drew in a raspy inhale and watched the doors open. Alana went up beside Hannibal and hooked her arm around his narrow waist. She heard Hannibal’s breath hitch in his throat when they walked out of the elevator. They fell in step with each other and Hannibal placed his arm around her shoulders with chaste lightness. Alana interpreted his silence as gratitude. 

Ares’s room was at the end of the hallway on the left. It was big and square and blindingly white with two average sized windows that flanked a cheap hospital portrait of daisies. Ares hated daisies. Rain from the black sky outside pattered against the glass in place of sunshine. Hannibal stood in the threshold of the room with trembling knees for a long time before he lifted his arm from Alana’s shoulders and walked in. He looked at Ares in bed finally. 

Her chest rose and fell with manufactured breaths. Her olive skin, so supple and vibrant once, looked sallow under the harsh fluorescent lights. Hannibal stumbled backward and caught himself against the wall, his hand fumbling along the surface until he reached the light switch. He wiped down and turned the light off. He felt Alana’s hands on him, one between his shoulders, the other on his hip. 

Hannibal moved away from her wordlessly. Alana half-stepped after him but he continued on sturdy legs to her bedside. He doubled over and used his elbows to support himself against her bed. He took her hand up carefully and cupped it against his cheek. He squeezed his eyes closed and furrowed his brow like he was searching for something. 

Alana felt paralyzed with helplessness. She knew better than to stand there with her mouth half-open but her feet felt rooted into the floor. She shrunk herself into a shadow.

Hannibal turned his face into her limp hand. He kissed her palm and her wrist over and over and over again as if just the right amount affection would pull her from limbo. Alana saw his lips move but didn’t recognize his soundless plea as English. He repeated the phrase a dozen times before he held Ares’s hand flat between his own and moved his eyes to her face. He curled her fingers delicately into a fist as he leaned over to stroke her cheek; brush her hair back from her forehead; pinch her chin between his thumb and index knuckle. 

“I loved you, I love you, I will love you, Ares,” he kissed the apple of her cheek, his lips trembling against her icy skin. 

He hunched back over and held her hand to his mouth. His lips grazed her skin before he sunk his teeth into the blade of her hand and looked up at her as if anticipating a reaction. When she remained unresponsive, Hannibal choked out a sound somewhere between a sob and a cough. He placed her hand gently on the bed and sunk down to his knees on the floor, his forehead against the side of the mattress. He allowed himself a full minute of total emotional abandon. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks, some dropping off his jawline, others streaking the sides of his neck and soaking into his collar. 

Hannibal stood slowly, dizzy and nauseated. He walked around to the left side of the bed and gently took her hand up. He slid her thick gold wedding band from her finger and put it onto the pinky of his right hand. He set her hand down with finality. He wiped his face with his hands, bowed his head in momentary silence, and returned to Alana, who was fumbling with a tissue and her own violent emotional reaction to the situation.

“Take her off life support,” Hannibal said. His voice didn’t sound like his own. “She won’t wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I just wanted to let you know that this is the last chapter of this story and if you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading and I hope you've at least moderately enjoyed what I've created. 
> 
> I would like to continue writing this universe out (or, more accurately, fleshing out this incarnation of Hannibal Lecter) so I have plans to start a new story where I will explore Hannibal's relationship with his new daughter Annelise Mathilde, Dr. Alana Bloom, Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier, Special Agent Jack Crawford and his wife Bella, and even poor little Will Graham. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


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